Lost Fan of Sherlock
by Anubis Enfield
Summary: "I never understood why Lestrade saw it necessary to let tourists run around his precinct." "Sherlock, behave!" No. This can't be happening... I'm in Sherlock...
1. Chapter 1

**Wanted to put a more realistic edge to the typical 'entered a fictional world'.**

* * *

I sighed, eyes scanning over the London scenery, excited that I was finally in London. Or, that's what I would say if it weren't for the circumstances. _It's too loud._ I frowned and put my large headphones over my ears, classical music filtering in. It seemed classical wasn't loud enough to block out the clatter around me though, so I switched it to something a bit more…me. Once 30 Seconds to Mars began pumping through the headphones, I relaxed a bit, getting a chance to enjoy the London scenery without all the noise people were making around me. It was short lived though when someone tapped my shoulder.

I turned to see one of my fellow classmates speaking to me. He couldn't tell that I couldn't hear him, but I had learned to read lips the moment I got an iPod, knowing that I liked music far more than talking.

"The professor says we're heading to the buses now, Sam."

I nodded and grabbed the luggage that I had, walking with him to the buses before getting on with the others. The boy beside me kept talking though and I was glad I couldn't hear him. I just wish he'd catch the hint. _I mean, really. I don't even know him._ The boy's name was Bobbie Reiss. He was _extremely_ talkative, brown eyes shining with excitement and black hair bobbing when he laughed, but I had literally just met him while we were switching planes. He had seen me chewing gum as we waited and asked for a piece, which I had given him. Apparently, that was enough means for a friendship and he hadn't left me alone since. We weren't even in the same classes due to our differing majors—him being a psychology major and me a criminology major—though he insisted that we had the same psychology class the previous year. I glanced over at him as he spoke beside me, reading what he said.

"Aren't you excited, Sam?! I mean, we're in London! Sure, it's for school, but I can't wait until we have some free time so we can go ex—"

I looked away and gazed out the window, chin in my hand. Sure, I guess one could say I wasn't excited, but I knew this wasn't a pleasure trip. All of us were here because we managed to get into the study abroad program, so we were only going to be in London for a few months. I suppose it caused a means for excitement, but we were mostly going to be doing class-work while we were here and, as much as I wanted to, I knew we weren't exactly going to have enough time to go sightseeing. I glanced back at Bobbie when I caught something interesting he said in the silent gap between songs.

"And then there's that series I saw! _Sherlock_ was amazing, don't you think, Sam? I can't wait to go check out the actual place where they shot it and the Sherlock museum too!"

I rolled my eyes, turning back to the window, though a slight smirk appeared on my face. _Sherlock_ was a TV series I had gotten hooked on not too long ago and had fallen in love with it the moment I'd seen it. The only issue was, I kept this secret love for _Sherlock_ hidden. The people around me often joked about how excited I was about it and even my own family shot me looks when I brought it up. And after a while of that, I found myself growing more and more reclusive, and I stopped expressing my excitement for a lot of things. Even here in London, where the show was filmed, I could see the English rolling their eyes at the American tourists who lined up outside the Sherlock museum.

The bus pulled up to a stop then, and we all got out, making our way into the dorm we were going to be staying in and getting our assigned rooms to drop off our things. Once in my room, I flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, hands behind my head and headphones still blasting music. The woman I was sharing a room with was already chatting with someone on her phone and, while I was slightly annoyed at her high-pitched chattering, it was better than having to listen to Bobbie. _The moron thought I was a guy this whole time too._ I smirked a bit, remembering his face when the professor said who I was rooming with. _Though it's expected. I'm not exactly feminine._ Shrugging off the fact that my short hair and baggy clothes made me look like a man even at the age of 21, I left the room and headed back down to the buses, getting in and waiting until we were all there and driven to a nearby college where the professor would be teaching.

Once there, we listened and took notes on a lecture for a good two hours before we were allowed a break. I had somehow managed to sneak out of the room before Bobbie noticed me and took the stairs down to the first floor, where I had seen a vending machine before. With a notebook tucked under one arm, I went ahead and bought a soda and some cigarettes before sitting on a concrete slab off in a corner and writing. I had started writing a mystery novel some years back and sent sections of it to a friend who told me how good it was, even though I thought it mediocre at best. Needless to say, she wanted me to keep writing and I enjoyed it, so I did. I checked my watch then and sighed, closing my notebook, snuffing out my cigarette, and grabbing my soda before heading back upstairs to finish my lecture. Two hours later, and one could find me passed out in my dorm, jet lagged and exhausted.

The next morning though, I felt like something was off. I couldn't place it, but there was something about today that felt different, unnatural. I shrugged it off and met downstairs with the professor and the rest of the class, expecting us to get on the bus and head back to the college for another lecture. Thing was, apparently we were going down to Scotland Yard to hear from one of the police officers there who worked on criminal profiling. It wasn't exactly psychology, but it was good enough for the professor who deemed it an amazing opportunity. I didn't mind though. Anything was better than a lecture and I was actually excited for it.

The buses took us there and we all headed out, following the professor as he led us through the building until we were in one of the main areas where desks of police officers sat, covered in paperwork. I was glancing around, checking everything out, when I spotted someone who looked kind of familiar. _He looks like Anderson…_ I blinked though, and the man was gone so I shook it off as my mind playing tricks on me. Once the professor led the class to another area though, I could've sworn I saw Donovan arguing with someone, but when I looked back there was no one there. _Maybe I'm sick._ I placed a hand to my forehead with a frown, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

"You okay there?"

I nodded, lowering my hand. "Yeah I'm fi—"

I cut myself off, looking up at none other than DI Lestrade with wide eyes, taking a step back and bumping into someone. I quickly apologized as I had knocked their papers to the ground, but the person I had apologized to was a grumpy looking Donovan and I began to panic. _No. No, no, no! T-This can't be right! I-I was supposed to be on a class trip to Scotland Yard, but this is— These people are—_ Feeling panic well up, I scrambled away from Lestrade and Donovan and began apologizing, spotting my classmates not too far up ahead.

"S-Sorry. I, uh, I need to go. My class is leaving me behind."

Lestrade nodded, bending to help Donovan pick up her papers and I hurried after my class. Once there, I couldn't focus on the man speaking. All I could think about was that I had somehow met some of the characters from _Sherlock_ and that I really needed to focus. _I can't keep dwelling on this. I have to think. There's got to be a reasonable explanation for what happened._ I looked down at my notebook and began writing.

 _One: I'm dreaming/hallucinating._

 _Two: It's a prank._

 _Three: I'm crazy._

 _Four:_ Sherlock _is based on real-life._

 _Five: I'm in the_ Sherlock _series._

I looked over my options and frowned. _Stupid possibilities, but the only logical explanations._ Just then, someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped, turning to see Bobbie standing there looking down at me confused.

"You okay there, Sam? I just came to tell you that we're on break. The professor said we can look around for a while but we need to stay out of the officers' way."

I nodded, gathering my things. "Y-Yeah. I'm fine."

I pushed past him and headed out, keeping my head bowed and went to put on my headphones, hands shaking. I cursed as my hands fumbled, dropping my headphones, but before they could hit the ground, someone caught them.

"Sorry!" I said, looking up only to pale once more at the tall man who held them. _N-No way…_

"I never understood why Lestrade saw it necessary to let _tourists_ run around his precinct."

"Sherlock, behave!" The man behind him said, taking the headphones from him and handing them back to me with a smile. "Sorry about him. He can be a bit brash sometimes."

"Y-You…" I stuttered out, eyes wide as I looked over the two men and took in their appearances.

 _Dark curls, long coat with collar flipped up, scarf, sharp cheekbones…And the other…blonde hair, cut short, military style, jumper, kind smile…I-It can't be. First Lestrade and Donovan and now them?_

"Do we know you?" John asked, giving me a curious look.

"N-No…Do, uh, do the names Benedict Cumberbatch or Martin Freeman ring a bell?" I questioned.

John raised a brow. "Not that I know of. You, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked down at me with a frown. "No, and we don't have time for this, John. We need to inform Lestrade about the culprit for the burglary."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Alright."

The two of them walked past me and I blinked at their backs, completely dumbstruck. _No. This can't be happening. There was no hint of recognition from either of them. Which means it's not a prank and theory four is completely out of the question._ I then spotted Bobbie, and hurried to him, pulling him away from a small group of chattering students and gesturing to Sherlock and John, who were now talking to Lestrade.

"Bobbie, do you recognize those three at all?"

Bobbie looked at them with a hand on his chin. "Hm…Nope. Can't say I do."

My eyes widened. "W-What? But you were saying on the bus about how you watched _Sherlock_ and—"

"Woah. Calm down there, Sam. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You…You don't?"

He shook his head. "Not a clue. I've never heard of anything called _Sherlock_."

"I-Impossible."

Bobbie raised a brow, suddenly looking at me in concern. "Hey, are you okay, Sam? You don't look too good."

"Yeah, no. I-I'm okay. I just…I need a cigarette." I grumbled, turning away and just barely hearing him say something behind me.

"Huh, didn't take you for the smoking type."

 _That's because I'm trying to quit…_ I thought, before moving towards one of the empty interrogation rooms and cracking the door open once I was inside, forgetting the urge to smoke for now. I began pacing, trying to think logically despite the completely illogical situation, mumbling to myself.

"Bobbie doesn't remember what he said, but I clearly heard him on the bus. It's as if the TV show never existed, but then why are _they_ here?"

I put my headphones on, switching the music back to classical and leaning on the edge of the table.

"This doesn't make sense. The only theories left are one, three and five. If I'm thinking this logically though, three can't be it. And the first one…"

I got up and turned to the wall, lifting a fist and slamming it into the wall with ample enough force to bruise my hand, leaving me gripping it tightly with grit teeth. _O-Ow! Okay! Not dreaming!…Which can only mean…_

"Theory five…" I muttered, opening my eyes that I had clenched shut after hurting myself. "But then why are Bobbie and the others—Oh." I lifted my head, light bulb in my mind clicking on. "I'm in _Sherlock,_ which means the show never existed. I read about this somewhere."

I closed my eyes and focused, digging through a dusty library in my head, before finding what I was looking for.

"That's it. Time-lines." I opened my eyes, placing a hand over the lower portion of my face. "My time-line somehow collided and synced with the _Sherlock_ time-line. So everything should be the same except the show never existed…That means…" I lifted my head with a sigh and a small smile. "I freaked out over nothing. Everything's still the same and I won't be involved other than bumping into them on occasion while on my trip."

I chuckled, eyes closed and headphones now off, but it wasn't a happy chuckle. It was bordering insane, but I left the room feeling much better than before, when my professor came up to me.

"There you are. I was looking for you."

I raised a brow. "Something wrong?"

He shook his head, a grin stretching across his face. "The exact opposite, actually. Seems the detective inspector in charge of this area of Scotland Yard is willing to let a few people stand behind the two-way mirror while he interrogates someone wanted for a burglary charge. I assumed you would wish to do this, seeing as you are one of the only people here seeking a role in criminal justice."

I felt a smile grow on my face. "R-Really?!"

He nodded. "Seems so. You interested?"

I nodded vigorously, earning a chuckle from the man before he led me over to where Lestrade was. For now, I had switched into a coping mechanism—something I recognized straight away—and simply greeted the man as I would anyone else I had met. Basically, I was in denial and would act as though nothing had changed even though it obviously had. Lestrade took my hand in a firm shake, making me wince, and showed me to the back room.

"You'll be able to watch from here and I'll leave the microphone on so you can hear everything. Go ahead and write anything you see into your notebook and I'll see how well you did when I finish."

I nodded, eager to have this experience and even more so since it seemed it was only going to be myself and two other students in the room. At least, that's how it should've been, but before Lestrade made it out the door, two others joined us, surprising him and myself as well.

"Sherlock! What are you doing?!"

"What does it look like? You're interrogating the criminal to the burglary crime I solved and I'd like to be here to view the process."

Lestrade sighed. "Look. Normally, I'd let you, but I'm letting some of the college students in here to take notes and—"

"Please, I doubt they'll mind and even if they did, it wouldn't matter. He's _my_ criminal and I want to see this interrogation."

Seeing Lestrade was about to blow up at Sherlock again, I decided to intervene and raised my hand.

"Um, I wouldn't mind if he was here."

All eyes went to me in surprise.

"He, uh, might be able to provide some insight as to…the circumstances surrounding the criminal and the crime itself."

Sherlock smirked, turning to Lestrade. "See? They actually _want_ me here."

Lestrade sighed again. "Fine. Just…don't cause any trouble."

He left the room, leaving Sherlock and John in there with me and the other two students, who already seemed a bit intimidated. Sherlock didn't thank me and I didn't say anything back, but John leaned over and grinned at me.

"Hello again."

I nodded, not saying anything and John reached a hand out.

"I'm John, by the way. John Watson. Thanks for helping out back there."

I took his hand and shook it in, what would've been a firm grip if I hadn't bruised my hand earlier in my battle with the wall. John noticed my grimace and quickly pulled his hand back.

"Ah! I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

I gave him a nervous smile. "Y-Yeah, just bruised my hand earlier, is all. I'm Sam Foxe and you're welcome. For earlier, I mean."

He returned a smile, when I heard the door for the interrogation room click open and I quickly went back to focus. The man sitting in the seat across from Lestrade didn't look too bad off, making me quickly question his motive for this burglary. _Nice clothes. A dark suit and tie, so a businessman, perhaps?_ I made a note, but left a question mark next to it until I could discover more. _He has a tie pin, simple silver with an engraving on it for…HSBC?! Isn't that a banking company?!_ I made that note and began listening to the interrogation. As the man answered the questions Lestrade was spouting at him, I noticed a few other things about him. For one thing, he had a tan line around his ring finger, telling me he was divorced and there was small indents on the bridge of his nose, letting me know he wore glasses and was farsighted. _This is all to be expected though. He works at a banking company and probably has to read all sorts of things. Of course his eyesight would be bad._ I frowned slightly, looking over my notes, knowing I needed to connect the dots and figure out why he did what he did. _Though I suppose that's the first thing that I need to ask._

I looked up and over at Sherlock, opening my mouth, but he was extremely focused on what was happening, so I turned to John. "Mr. Watson?"

John turned to me and gave me a smile. "Please, just John."

I nodded, glancing back at the interrogation room for an instant before turning back to him. "Could you tell me what the criminal did?"

John nodded. "Let's see. According to Lestrade, there was a break-in at the HSBC just down the street. But when they got there, the culprit was gone, there was no forensic evidence, no video camera feeds, no anything. The only way you could tell someone had been there was by the furniture in one of the offices being flipped upside-down and the fact that the small safe in that room was open and empty."

" _And_ the fact that the doors had all been opened by a key card, the alarm was purposely tripped, the culprit obviously had a vendetta against the president of the company, had a gambling problem, and wore size ten shoes." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at John. "Really John. If they're going to ask, give them _all_ the facts."

John sighed and I nodded, checking over my notes once more and trying to connect the dots. _So, it sounds like this man had just gotten a divorce and was low on cash—the gambling obviously not helping—and had some sort of connection to the president, who had upset him enough for him to purposely go in there and flip over the furniture. And I'm guessing that he stole the president's key card, giving him unlimited access to the building and the security footage, but to get that he'd have to know where to get it so—_

"He's related to the president." I muttered, not seeing that I had caught everyone's attention and that Lestrade had just came back into the room.

"Did I miss something?" He asked and I lifted my head, cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment as I turned my head away.

"No. Nothing. I was just, uh…thinking out loud." I muttered, handing him my notebook and pointing to the door with a nervous smile. "I'll just be waiting outside."

I quickly left the room, heart in a panic at accidentally speaking out loud and mentally berating myself. _Idiot, idiot, idiot! The whole point is to_ not _attract attention! Especially with Sherlock and John around. The last thing you need is to somehow wreck the plot-line and end up getting someone hurt or killed._ I sighed and pulled my headphones on, stuffing my hands into my pockets and telling Bobbie that if anyone came looking for me, I'd be just outside. Once out there, I reluctantly pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, inhaling the smoke deeply and letting it out, content to just stand there and listen to 'Chaconne' by Vitali; the violin somehow blocking out the outside noise and allowing me to close my eyes and just relax as I leaned against the wall outside. I didn't expect to be disturbed for a while, but fate had other plans and someone pulled my headphones off.

"Oi!" I called out, opening my eyes with a glare, only to see someone I didn't expect standing before me with a questioning look on his face as he caught what I was listening to.

"Hm, didn't expect someone from America to have a decent taste in music."

I was frustrated and probably would've gotten angry if it had been anyone other than Sherlock Holmes who was criticizing my music, and instead, I simply held out my hand.

"Can I have those back, please?"

He raised a brow, seeming slightly surprised at my response, but handed them back, allowing me to turn off my music and slip them around my neck. Once I finished with that, I took another drag from my cigarette and snuffed it out, slightly upset because I hadn't had a chance to finish it and cigarettes cost quite a bit with my salary. I then turned to Sherlock and promptly looked away nervously.

"I assume Detective Inspector Lestrade wants me?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, though he's not the only one."

I raised a brow at him, but said nothing and just walked with him back to the room where Lestrade was speaking with my professor. _Did I do something wrong? I don't like the way they're looking at me._ I hesitantly approached them, Sherlock standing nearby as well with John, and they turned their attention to me.

"Ah, Sam. Detective Inspector Lestrade here wishes to speak with you and has offered to take you back to the dorm when you're finished since I need to get the class moving again. Is that alright?"

I nodded, glancing at the smiling detective before my professor bid us farewell and took the class with him out of the precinct. Now, I may be 21, but I can be fairly childish when I want to be, which only became more apparent due to my shyness. On the other hand, I can become very serious when need be as well. Currently though, I was fidgeting in Lestrade's office, not sure why I had been called away from my class or what Sherlock and John were doing in the room with me. My right leg bounced in my nervousness and my eyes scanned the room, taking in everything and nothing all at the same time.

"Stop that."

I jumped at Sherlock's voice and nodded, lowering my head as I stopped bouncing my leg and instead picked at my fingernails.

"Sam Foxe, right?"

I looked up at Lestrade and nodded. "Did I do something wrong?"

Lestrade shook his head with a chuckle. "Oh no. Of course not. I was just interested in this."

He held up my notebook and I raised a brow, very confused.

"What about it?" I asked, more confident now that I knew I wasn't in trouble for anything.

"Well, you were the only one out of the three that were watching the interrogation that got every aspect about the criminal right, as well as a few other bits of information about him."

I felt my lip twitch up in a smile, but kept it minimal.

"Thank you."

He nodded, but then gave me a look that had me nervous once more. "That being said, we were curious as to how you came up with the reasoning behind why the culprit committed the crime."

I blinked, glancing at Sherlock and John, before looking back at Lestrade. "I, um, noticed that the man was divorced by the tan line on his ring finger on his left hand and assumed he had money problems when Mr. Holmes mentioned gambling, giving him ample enough reason to want to rob his company."

Sherlock was suddenly standing beside me and I flinched as he spoke. "And how did you figure out he was related to the president of the company?"

I leaned away from him a bit, swallowing thickly before answering. "You mentioned the furniture being flipped in his office. The culprit didn't like the president and must have taken his key card to get into his office since the alarm wasn't tripped until the culprit wanted it. The only way you can get the key card, provided that the president kept it with him, was to steal it from the man himself or from his home. So you would have to be close enough to him that he would not only let you in his home, but that he would trust you not to steal from him. S-So the man had to be related…A, uh, brother perhaps?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "And why would he have a grudge against his…brother?"

I thought for a second, eyes narrowed and a crease between my brows. "Because…his brother was successful and he wasn't. He was jealous."

Sherlock seemed to smirk for an instant before backing away from me and looking at Lestrade.

"I rest my case."

I looked around now, even more confused that I had been when I first walked in. Lestrade though, understood what Sherlock was saying and sighed.

"I can't just let you take him, Sherlock. He's here on a study abroad program and I doubt that the professor would be willing to—"

"I could care less about what some idiotic American professor thinks."

"Sherlock! Can't you say anything nice?!"

The voices in the room grew louder as the three men shouted at one another and with all the noise, I was getting more and more frustrated until I couldn't take it anymore.

"Oi! I don't know what's going on, but don't you think I should have a say in it?!" I shouted, making all of the men stop and turn to me with surprised looks. _Not expecting me to actually shout, no doubt._

Lestrade coughed and nodded. "He's right. Ultimately, it's his choice on whether he wants to go with you or not, though I believe his professor has some say in this as well."

I shook my head. "Hold on. What's going on?"

"Apparently," Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock, a detective who consults with Scotland Yard, has decided that you should accompany him because he believes you could potentially prove helpful on cases. And I have _already_ tried to explain to him that you are on a school trip and have other things to do, but he refuses to listen."

"I'm not refusing to listen. I simply do not care about what other pointless things Miss Foxe, here, would be doing when she could be proving far more useful doing other things."

"Sherlock!" John shouted, followed by Lestrade.

"Seriously! I know he's a bit feminine, but you don't have to go pointing it out!"

Sherlock laughed as my cheeks turned a nice shade of red.

"Oh please! You don't honestly believe that this is a male, do you? The female bone structure is quite obvious!"

Lestrade and John turned to me as I fidgeted in my seat and rubbed the back of my neck.

"I, uh, would've said something but I prefer it when people figure it out on their own. I don't really care, one way or another."

John and Lestrade both flushed a bit, embarrassed at the fact that they'd been calling me a male this whole time.

"Sorry about that. I just assumed—"

"Yes, we all know what you assumed." Sherlock said, cutting him off. "Now can we _please_ get back to the situation on hand? I have an experiment at home that I need to check on."

Lestrade sighed. "Right, well, I'll have to contact her professor if she agrees. Uh, _do_ you agree?"

I opened my mouth, but Sherlock cut me off.

"Of course she does. It's a far better opportunity that what she's doing now."

I felt my eyebrow twitch, feeling as though I was being treated like I was a five year old who couldn't make my own decisions. _And I have enough of that at home with my brothers._

"Actually, I want to ask some questions first to, uh, know what I'm getting into." I said, making Sherlock scoff and tap his foot impatiently.

"Alright. Fire away." Lestrade said with a small grin, probably pleased at how frustrated I was making Sherlock.

I was quiet for a minute, thinking about what exactly I wanted to know and what could influence my decision.

"How long will I be…uh, assisting?"

Lestrade opened his mouth, but Sherlock responded.

"However long I see fit to keep you around, depending on how helpful or detrimental to the case you are."

"Sherlock!" John scolded, but I hummed quietly, still thinking.

"Will I continue to stay in my dorm?"

Sherlock waved a hand, bored already, I'm sure. "A waste of time. You will be staying with us."

"What?! I never agreed to that!" John said and they began arguing once more, but I pulled on my headphones and thought, a hand on my chin and brows furrowed.

 _Should I do this? Sherlock is right. It would be a great opportunity to improve my skills and, even though I won't be with my class, I'm sure real life work would be a better experience than sitting in a classroom listening to lectures. But then there's the plot. I need to remember that I'm still in_ Sherlock _and, though I don't know where at in the plot I am, the possibility of me screwing something up is_ extremely _high. Not only that, but the danger I'll be put in…_ My thoughts trailed off as I noticed my hand shaking and I frowned contemplatively. _Shaking…out of fear? Or excitement? My brothers have always told me how reckless I am. Perhaps I'm like John and Sherlock. I get off on it, but I just don't know it yet…_ Suddenly, my headphones were pulled off and I frowned, looking up at John with a glare that softened slightly upon seeing who it was.

"Ah… sorry. I just thought—"

"She was thinking, John." Sherlock said, a slight smirk on his face. "Music helps her think, correct?"

I nodded, turning off the music as I slipped the headphones back around my neck. "Yes, sorry. I, uh, I've decided though."

Sherlock smirked. "Perfect. You're coming then?"

I nodded, surprising Lestrade and John. "Ah, but I need to make sure my professor agrees. I don't need to end up with a low grade because I… ditched my study abroad trip."

Lestrade nodded, already picking up the phone. "I'll call him and let him know what's going on. Give me a moment."

As he began speaking with my professor, I couldn't help the small smile that tried to make its way onto my face, fingers drumming on my leg in excitement. I heard a chuckle and looked over at John as he laughed, a blush forming on my cheeks from embarrassment.

"You certainly look excited."

I scratched the back of my head nervously. "I just didn't expect this. I'm nothing special and all I did was figure out why the criminal did what he did. It wasn't that hard, so something like this is surprising."

"You deserve it though!" John said, surprised. "I couldn't have figured all that out!"

Before I could get a chance to say anything, Lestrade hung up the phone.

"Sounds like you have the go ahead so far." He said with a smile. "The professor said he expects a five to ten page report by the end of every other week about what you accomplished. And I'll send some of my men to grab your things from the dorm."

I nodded. "I haven't unpacked anything, so it should be pretty easy for them. Though the extra class work isn't something I expected." I muttered.

He nodded back with a chuckle and went ahead and waved us off as Sherlock adjusted his coat. "Well, have fun, you three and try not to get into any trouble."

John let out a chuckle, waving goodbye as we all left the precinct and I followed them into a cab. The cab ride was fairly silent, me staring out the window with my leg bouncing once again, to which Sherlock glared at me until I stopped. I couldn't help it though. I was excited and _extremely_ nervous. I mean, here I was, with two fictional characters in London, and they wanted me to help them with cases! That doesn't just happen to people and, as stoic and unexcited as I appeared, my heart was pounding away the closer we got to Baker Street.

"Miss Foxe."

I turned away from the window to Sherlock. "Sam's fine."

He rolled his eyes. " _Sam_ then. We need to establish some rules if you are to be assisting me on cases."

"Okay."

"First off, don't _touch_ anything. That goes for anything of mine in the flat as well. I don't need you ruining an experiment of mine or contaminating a crime scene."

I frowned a bit, muttering quietly. "I'm not five, you know."

"Also, don't insist on speaking to me about medial matters. I could care less about your boyfriend or classmates or personal life." Sherlock said with a disgusted face.

 _Like I have a boyfriend._ I thought with an eye roll. _And I don't even_ know _my classmates._

"And don't complain about anything I do, be it my violin playing at odd hours or my silence for days. I do things my way and my way alone. Which brings me to my last rule." He stared at me seriously with narrowed eyes. "You only do what myself or John says. Got it? I don't need you running off and doing whatever you please while we're trying to solve a crime."

"Alright." I said with a shrug. _Hypocrite. You do that with Lestrade all the time._

I had already given up on trying to convince him that I wasn't a child, though I hadn't really tried. I just believed that was how he would treat me until I proved myself to him somehow, or called him out on it and he kicked me off his cases. _I dealt with it my whole life, so it shouldn't be too hard to ignore it for a little while more. No matter_ how _much it grates on my nerves._ The cab pulled up to Baker Street and the three of us got out, myself having a hard time trying to keep a smile off my face as I entered the famed 221B Baker Street. It looked just like it did in the show and as I followed Sherlock up the stairs, I paid special note to the one stair that creaked when stepped on, and I stepped towards the side of it to keep it from creaking. Sherlock turned around with an odd look when I did that, but shook his head before we entered his flat, him removing his coat and scarf whereas I just stood and took everything in.

A union jack pillow sat on John's armchair with Sherlock's seat sitting across from it. The skull sat on the mantelpiece below a large mirror and books and papers were scattered about all over the place. Then, there was a set of headphones resting on the head of a black steer skull that hung on the wall above a table and chairs and a desk. _It's exactly like the show…so cool…_ I continued to look around, being careful not to touch anything—as per Sherlock's orders—and moved over to his book collection. He had everything from the bible, to most wanted books, to a dictionary of world history, as well as chemistry books, books on guns and their bullets, law books, and mystery and romantic novels (John's, most likely). I hardly noticed Sherlock and John watching me as I stood eye-to-eye with Sherlock's skull, eyes scanning it thoroughly as I began to mutter to myself.

"Caucasian, male, late sixties, died of natural causes."

"Early seventies, actually."

I jumped, turning to find Sherlock looking down at me, one eyebrow raised and hands behind his back.

"S-Sorry."

"Oh, stop apologizing." He complained suddenly. "You can't expect anyone to have confidence in you being an officer of the law if you keep apologizing for every little thing."

I flushed red as I took in his words, bowing my head in shame. _He's right. No matter what position I'm looking for as a career in law enforcement, I'm going to have to deal with people and be confident in myself or no one will believe me or care about what I have to say._ I clenched my fists at my side in frustration. _I already know I can be confident. I_ can _be a leader and I_ can _be strong, but…_ My stomach churned and my hands fell limp at my sides. _There's that fear…That voice telling me it's impossible for someone like me._

"I'll, um, do my best." I said quietly, walking past him and towards the couch to sit down, only to remember I wasn't allowed to touch anything and instead dropped my backpack off next to it and went to the window, staring outside blankly.

"Uh, um… Sam?"

I glanced back at John, hiding my inner turmoil with a bored expression.

"You can sit down if you want. Just because Sherlock said you can't touch anything doesn't mean you have to keep standing."

I slowly nodded and took a seat on the couch, not really sure what to do now since Sherlock was sitting in his chair in thought and John had pulled out a book to read. I felt myself get more and more bored and my leg began bouncing again, only for me to stop it upon catching Sherlock's glare. Once he closed his eyes though, I began picking at a scab on the back of my hand from a scratch I'd gotten from accidentally cutting myself on the edge of something (I say 'something' because I have no idea how I actually got it).

"Argh!" Sherlock suddenly groaned, sitting upright and pointing at me. "Stop that!"

I stared back at him with wide eyes, not really sure what he was talking about.

"W-Wha—"

"You're insistent fidgeting! You bounce your leg, chew your bottom lip, pick at your fingers, scratch at scabs, tap your fingers, or run your hand through your hair every five seconds! Your constant anxiety is an annoyance!"

"I-I, um—"

" _Don't_ apologize!" He half-shouted at me, standing and walking over to hover above me. "You're bored, right? Well, here. I'll give you something to think about."

"Sherlock." John warned, moving to stand, but Sherlock ignored him.

"You're in your late teens, early twenties. A college student from America, obviously. New York, to be specific, but you were born in California and raised there until you moved to attend college. You have older brothers who constantly treated you as though you were a child and, while you resent being treated as such, you say nothing about it. You've never had a job, but you have a cat waiting for you back home. You're smart, but hide it behind ignorance and solitude. You take a lot to get over-stressed and are fairly patient and, while your appearance says you're rebellious and trying to be different from others, you still try to conform and fit in and keep your mouth shut when you should be speaking out.

"Your parents weren't around, deceased, would be my guess. So your brothers took care of you. You're stronger than you appear, probably trained in some martial arts of some sort, but you also have a good taste in music, suggesting that you played an instrument at one time. Though now, you play violin, so your old instrument was probably too big to carry around but not so large that you wouldn't be able to carry it without too much struggle…cello then. You are also very isolated from the people around you and appear to be a shy person as far as personality goes, so I doubt you have a criminal record at all. Your grades are probably in excellent shape as well and your anxiety probably comes from a lack of challenge in life, be it in school or daily activities. You want to do more, but you don't, so you're lacking in self-confidence and have probably been to a therapist at least once for that and depression. Add that to the tattoo you've managed to hide from your brothers on your lower back, and I'd say you're just another regular troubled _child_."

"Sherlock!" John shouted, having gotten up and made his way over towards us. "Was that really necessary?! So what if she was uncomfortable?! It's to be expected after suddenly taking her from her class and expecting her to run around solving crimes with two strangers! You don't need to go telling her life story over something like that!"

"Y-You're wrong…" I muttered quietly, head bowed.

"Hm?"

I looked up at Sherlock with a glare, tears pricking the corner of my eyes—not from sadness or hurt, but from embarrassment. "I-I said, you're wrong."

It was Sherlock's turn to glare now, as he stared me down. "Then _please_ , educate me."

"I don't speak out because it brings me unwanted attention." I muttered, bowing my head as I swallowed thickly. "I-I-I don't like being noticed and find I work better on my own. Things get done faster without _people_ getting in the way."

"'People getting in the—' What do you mean, Sam?" John asked.

I felt anger rising up in me and I clenched my fists at my side. "I _hate_ people. They're always doing what's best for themselves. Trying to get money, power, women. They're disgusting. Disgusting…and stupid."

John stared back at me, mouth gaping, as Sherlock smirked, moving back to his chair and picking up his violin. "Seems I was right about you…You're far more interesting than everyone thinks."

I shook my head and stood, walking around John and towards the door. "If that's what you want to think…"

"A-Ah! Where are you going, Sam?" John called out, looking at Sherlock and back at me.

I grabbed my headphones and put them on my head. "'Round the block. If I pass a store…I'll, um, grab some milk."

He blinked at me in confusion before I left and headed out of 221B with a frown firmly planted on my face. I know that what I said had shocked John and was very… _negative_ , but it was truly what I thought and that's what Sherlock wanted from me. The truth. And the truth was, I hated humanity and the things they did to people. That was the reason I went into criminology. I was tired of people suffering and picking on the weak. So I was going to put a stop to it. One person at a time.

* * *

John glanced at the closed door and turned back to Sherlock.

"Well, that was…odd."

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, plucking at the strings on his violin.

John fidgeted a bit, before closing his book. "Do you think it was alright to let her go by herself?"

"She'll be fine. As I said, she's tougher than she looks."

"Yeah, but she's still a woman."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A woman who looks like a male. I doubt there will be any sex offenders out to get her in the middle of the day, John."

John sighed, lifting his hand to rub his forehead in exasperation. "Well, what about what she said? About hating people. You can't tell me she's alright after that."

"She's finally showing her true self, John. Don't you see?" Sherlock leaned forward abruptly, setting his violin aside with a smirk. "She's not who she appears. Who knows how long she's been hiding herself and this is the perfect opportunity to see what she's capable of."

John sighed. "She's just another case for you to solve, isn't she?"

"A walking, living, _breathing_ case, John. What are the chances that another one like this will come around?" Sherlock said, leaning back in his seat and steepling his hands before him, drifting off into his mind palace and leaving John to worry about their newest companion and whether or not she'd last a week in their company.

* * *

As I walked, listening to My Chemical Romance, I suddenly had a tingling sensation race up my spine and I glanced out of the corner of my eye into the window of the store behind me, indiscreetly checking to see if I was being followed. Sure enough, a black car with tinted windows was driving not too far behind me right next to the curb. _Him already? That was fast._ I let out a deep breath, calming myself, before pulling my hood up and dashing off down the street. Now, I _could_ just let Mycroft speak to me, but being a 'clueless' 21 year old with absolutely _no_ clue what was going on (cough- _sarcasm-_ cough), I acted as any semi-normal person would. I hightailed it out of there.

Now Sherlock just so happened to mention my particular skill in martial arts when he was spouting out my life story earlier, and those skills were now coming to light. Though, it wasn't your typical martial arts. While one of my brothers _did_ teach me judo, this was a far different style. Although, I wasn't sure if parkour even counted as a martial art. _Not something I need to dwell on now._ I thought, diving under a couch that some movers were bringing into a flat and rounding the corner, hopping over a fence and running through an alleyway. Just as I was about to reach the end of the alleyway, that black car pulled up to the end of it, so I took a detour, jumping up and pulling down the fire escape ladder before nimbly making my way up onto the roof. Thinking quickly as I ran and jumped between buildings, I tried to figure out how Mycroft could follow me. Then, it clicked as I spotted a camera on the building across the way. _CCTV cameras. Of course! Now where can those cameras_ not _look?_ As I figured out the problem, I mentally groaned and a frown made its way onto my face.

"I'm not going to like this." I muttered, sliding down the next available fire escape into an alleyway were I grabbed a couple of empty semi-clean grocery bags from the dumpster and tied them around my feet.

Hating myself for what I was about to do, I glared at the man hole behind me and reluctantly managed to lift the lid enough to squeeze in, covering the entrance and climbing down the ladder, shoes plopping in the disgusting sewer waters below. _The only place CCTV cameras don't reach is underground and in the sky. Gross, but necessary. Now the fun part…_

"Figuring out where I'm going." I sighed and began walking through the sewers, using my head as best I could to retrace my steps.

After a while I assumed I was where I wanted to be and took a deep breath before pushing open the man hole cover. Luckily, I didn't end up in the middle of a road, but I recognized the little alleyway as the one I passed not half a block from Sherlock's place. I climbed out and recovered the man hole, removing the gross bags on my feet, before sprinting to 221B and hurrying up the stairs to John and Sherlock's flat, a bit out of breath after my chase. John immediately took in my appearance and jumped up, though I didn't let him get far before explaining my disheveled appearance.

"I-I was…being followed…by a black car…ran…lost them…I think…"

John's eyes widened, before narrowing and gently leading me to the couch.

"I'll fix you some tea." He said, heading into the kitchen as I sat on the couch, leg bouncing up and down after my little adrenaline rush.

Sherlock opened his eyes and I stopped, bowing my head as I remembered what he said earlier about me being anxious _and_ about apologizing. Oddly enough, he spoke.

"You think you lost him. How?"

My head snapped up in surprise. "I, um…After running around a bit, I went through the sewers. It's the only place the cameras can't track."

He raised a brow, sitting forward in his seat. "How did you know he used the cameras?"

I swallowed, realizing my mistake a bit too late. "U-Um…He made them move while I was on the phone with him." I lied, taking the excuse from when I watched John meet up with Mycroft in the episodes.

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, eyes narrowed at me, before he leaned back and returned to being silent.

 _That was close._ I thought, as John came back in and set a cup of tea before me.

"Thank you." I said, bringing the hot cup to my lips and sipping it quietly.

"I'm really sorry about that." John said, sitting down in his own seat with a sigh. "It was Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, who was following you."

"Oh." I said, trying to keep from letting anything slip again and instead settling for sipping my tea some more.

"I'll see if I can talk some sense into him. It's not right for him to go around trying to kidnap people just to be dramatic." John rolled his eyes, before glancing at Sherlock. "Though I suppose they are two of the same, in that aspect."

Sherlock opened an eye and glared at him, before closing it again, leaving John and I to chuckle lightly. Just then though, I had a thought.

"Um, where am I sleeping?"

"In my bed."/"On the couch." John and Sherlock answered simultaneously.

I blinked a few times as John glared at Sherlock, before answering. "I don't want to take your bed, John. I'm fine with the couch."

"I can't do that!" John replied. "It's our fault you have to leave your dorm room in the first place."

I chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "Actually, I never wanted to sleep in the dorm room to begin with. I was planning on sneaking down to the rec room and sleeping on a couch there."

John stared at me in shock. "What? Why?"

"I-I said it before. I really don't like people. That, and my roommate was someone who would end up texting all night so I doubted I'd get any sleep." I said with a slight frown.

"Well, I hate to say it, but you're probably not going to get any sleep around here either." John grumbled. "Sherlock tends to play his violin at all hours of the night."

"Is there something wrong with my violin playing?" Sherlock complained.

"No, of course not." John replied with a sarcastic tone. "It's great, up until 3am."

I glanced between the two, feeling the tension rise, when Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door frame, catching our attention.

"Yo-ho! Isn't the doorbell working? There's some officers downstairs with some luggage."

I jumped up, eager to leave the room while Sherlock and John were having a little tiff.

"That's mine."

Mrs. Hudson looked at me in surprise. "Oh! And who are you, dear?"

"That's Sam Foxe, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied, ignoring John who was still glaring at him. "She'll be staying with us for a while to assist with my work."

"I see. It's nice to have you then, dear." She said with a smile, holding a hand out that I shook with a minuscule smile—not really liking the physical contact, but dealing with it for now. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. It'll be nice to have a woman around, so please just ask if you'll be needing anything."

"Will do." I replied, before pointing to the door. "I, uh, I should go get my luggage."

"Yes, yes! Don't let me hold you up."

I nodded politely to her and hurried off down the stairs with a sigh. _She is far too happy for my tastes._ I thought, never really liking the overly cheerful type of people. They always seemed to have the need to get into your business. No offense to Mrs. Hudson, of course, but there's a limit to how much 'nice' I could handle. I opened the door then and greeted the single police officer, relieving him of my things and carrying them back upstairs with relative ease. Once I walked back into 221B though, John seemed adamant about me taking his room which I continued to decline.

"Really, just take it. I'm fine sleeping on the couch." He said.

I shook my head, placing my suitcase against the end of the couch—thus out of the way.

"No, John. I already said I'll take the couch and I'm pretty stubborn, so I doubt you'll get me to change my mind."

"But—"

"No." I said sternly, sitting on the couch, arms crossed over my chest and eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Alright." John sighed, before looking at me with a small smirk. "Seems you and Sherlock will get along just fine seeing as you're both as stubborn as a mule."

"Don't compare me to him/her!" Sherlock and I shouted, pointing at each other before glaring at one another as John chuckled.

"Haha, s-should I be expecting a happy announcement soon?"

I felt my ears and cheeks turn red at John's words, but Sherlock just scoffed, closing his eyes once more.

"Please, John. I've already told you I'm married to my work and any such sentiment towards someone of her age is bordering pedophilia."

The heat in my face began to get worse. "I-I'm 21!"

"With the figure of a twelve year old."

Instead of getting redder, I felt any frustration with Sherlock fly right out the window, being replaced by a deep, aching pit in the base of my stomach. I knew I couldn't just storm out again and I didn't really have a room I could go to. _And I'm taking too long to respond. He's going to deduce something. Quick brain! T-Think something up._

"Yeah, whatever." I said with a frown, laying down on the couch and rolling so that I was facing the back of it.

My fake frustrated expression disappeared and slipped into one of sadness as I curled into myself a bit. Self-confidence wasn't something I really had and I've always had people poking at my figure and appearance my whole life. Even my brothers constantly teased me about it and, while I joked it off, it really hurt sometimes. As much as I hated hearing it though, I didn't have enough confidence to tell people I didn't like it or they were people close to me and I just didn't want to make them feel bad.

" _Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."_

I grit my teeth as the _Sherlock_ quote found its way into my head, making me even more frustrated with myself. Quickly, I pulled on my headphones, allowing the music to come over me and help me keep my emotions in check as well as shut me down from the rest of the world. _No more, Sam. Stop thinking about yourself. You're in_ Sherlock _remember? You need to make sure no one gets hurt and that the plot goes exactly as planned. So think. Where are you at in the plot?_ I quickly dug through my mind for what had happened in the past few hours and picked up a few minor things that would be able to help.

" _It was Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, who was following you."_

 _Alright. So after the 'Study in Pink' case._ I took a quick glance above me and didn't see the usual smiley face painted on the wall, closing my eyes with a small frown. _Before the 'Blind Banker' case. And the burglary he just solved wasn't in the plot, so it was probably just a non-canon case._ I continued to think about what I could and couldn't do as far as the plot goes, when those little bells went off in my head loudly enough to derail my train of thought and toss it onto another track. I sat up abruptly, earning a curious look from the other two occupants, and quickly flopped over the arm of the couch and pulled out my notebook, pencil, and a pack of sticky notes. I began scribbling quick ideas on the sticky notes and flipped to the back of my notebook with my free hand, revealing pages upon pages full of sticky notes, and began sticking my new notes onto the half-filled page where I needed them, connecting them with lines from a red sharpie I had also grabbed from my pack.

This went on for a while, before I felt the train in my head slow to a milder pace and I tossed what I had back into my backpack and leaning back on the couch with a sigh, putting my headphones around my neck so I could pull a hand through my hair.

"What, ah, what was that?"

I looked up, eyes wide, having forgotten that John and Sherlock were still here, and turned a light shade of red at having been caught doing something I allowed only a few people to witness.

"I-I, um…was just…writing?"

"Obviously." Sherlock mumbled, making me slink back a bit into the couch.

"No one asked you, Sherlock." John snapped at him, letting me know that _he_ had noticed my sudden tepidness earlier, before he turned to me with an encouraging smile. "What do you write?"

"A-A mystery story…I guess…" I swallowed thickly, not really liking to talk about my stories. _They're not that good anyway…_

"Oh! That's interesting! Is it based on anything?"

I shook my head. "No. Well, sometimes, I guess. I normally just make notes of whatever interesting comes to mind. Sometimes it happens after I watch the news or read about things."

"Could I read it sometime?"

I felt that familiar heat creep up to my cheeks as I shook my head. "It's not that good. You probably wouldn't like it."

"Nonsense! It can't be that bad!"

I looked at him and just couldn't bear to say no to his honest and cheerful expression and I sighed. "I suppose I could let you read the first book. If you, um, critique it for me? I-I don't really have anyone to edit it or anything and my…friend who reads it could be a bit bias."

"Sure! Ah, but wait. You said 'first book'? You wrote more than one?"

I nodded, getting more and more embarrassed by the minute. "F-Four. I'm writing the fifth one now. I, um, had a lot of free time in school…"

He chuckled, helping ease up my nervousness a bit. "Okay. I'd be honored to read your books."

I nodded once more and went over to my back pack, flipping through a few notebooks that were in there, before moving on to my suitcase and pulling out three five-subject notebooks that looked well-worn, and I got up and passed them to John.

"These have the first book. They're labeled on the cover what they are so you don't end up reading the ending first or anything."

He took them, eyes wide in surprise, before setting two aside and holding up the other. "I'll get started right now then. Looks like I'll have plenty of reading to do."

I felt the corner of my lip twitch upwards, before heading back to the couch with a yawn. As I looked outside, I noticed that it was already getting dark and mused my hair in slight frustration. _Jet lagged. I can't sleep just yet or I'll be really messed up tomorrow._ my stomach growled then as well and John chuckled, setting down the notebook he had just opened.

"I'll order some take-out. Do you want anything in particular?"

"I'll take what you recommend, but nothing with seafood. I don't particularly care for seafood."

"I'll keep that in mind." He said, going to order and leaving me alone in the living room once more with Sherlock.

It was quiet, but only for a moment before Sherlock broke it.

"You're an exceptional liar."

I jumped a bit, cringing for being so cowardly. _Though I've been pretty shy since I got here. Go figure._

"I had a lot of practice." I muttered, hands folded on my lap and head bowed.

"And you don't like your appearance."

I grit my teeth tightly, struggling to keep from either breaking down in tears or punching Sherlock in the face. _Stay calm. He's nothing compare to what you've had to deal with. Calm._

"No. I don't." I said, my voice somehow staying calm.

"Yet you purposely cut your hair in a short boy style. Now, why is that?"

Before I could answer, John returned with a cheerful smile.

"It's on its way and…Um, did I interrupt something?"

I ignored him and laid back down on the couch, facing away from everyone once more and putting my headphones back on. Unfortunately for John, he assumed I was playing music and began getting angry with Sherlock once more thinking I wasn't listening.

"Sherlock, what'd you do this time?"

"Don't know why you're getting angry, John. I simply stated a few facts."

"Yeah, well, your _facts_ can be hurtful to some people!"

"Like I care about what other people think."

"You might want to! Especially if you want her to be staying with us for a while!"

"She can leave if she wants, John. There's nothing stopping her."

"You—" I heard John groan in frustration, the sound of his shuffling feet just barely being heard through my headphones even without music playing. "You're a right git, you know that?"

"So you've told me."

"Just… _try_ to get along with her."

It went quiet then and I turned on my music, doing my best to try and keep from sleeping until the food arrived. It was harder than I thought, but I managed and once John had gotten the take-out and brought it up, we sat in our respective seats and ate quietly. You could feel the tension in the room and after a while, it had obviously began to get on John's nerves and he slammed down his empty take-out container and glared at the two of us.

"Enough! That's enough! Sherlock, apologize!"

"You want me to… _what_?"

"I said, _apologize_. Obviously you said something you shouldn't have and I'm tired of this…this _tension_! Now hurry up and apologize so we can get back to our lives!"

"Why should I have to—"

I quickly cut Sherlock off. "I-It's fine!"

All eyes turned to me.

"I mean, it's my fault for taking his questions personally." I gave a nervous smile. "I'm sure he was genuinely curious and I, um, overreacted a bit is all. Sorry I made the atmosphere all…awkward."

Sherlock gestured to me with a small smirk. "See? No apology needed. She's fine."

"Yeah well…" John scooped up the empty containers from off the table and made his way towards the kitchen with a small frown. "Try to keep the atmosphere a bit less tense, would you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and settled back in his chair, but stayed silent the rest of the night as John and I spoke a bit and settled in for the evening. John had gotten me some blankets to use and I changed into some pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt in their bathroom before lying down on the couch. As I curled up on the couch, I noticed Sherlock hadn't moved from his place and I rolled over to face the back of the couch for now to avoid bothering him by staring or some other such fan girl nonsense. He _was_ after all, _the_ Benedict Cumberbatch and as much as I wanted to appreciate his amazing acting and good looking features, I always felt bad for those celebrities who had to deal with the crazy fans and had vowed that, should I ever meet one, I was going to treat them like every other person. _Well, other than giving them the respect they deserve._

Not only that, but right here, right now, this _wasn't_ Benedict Cumberbatch. This was Sherlock Holmes. The high-functioning sociopath who would probably kick me out on the spot should I go fan girl on him. He was almost like a museum piece to me. Something meant to be respected and looked at, but never touched and never compared to any other fake copies. _Though for all I know, there's going to be a way for me to get off of this time-line and I'll regret it later._ I mentally sighed, feeling a little cloud of depression hover over me the more I thought about it. _If I could only get one thing from being here, just_ one _thing, I'd want his respect. That's it. Nothing more, just the respect of the most renowned detective the world has seen._ I felt a small smile slip onto my face and brought the blankets in closer as I slowly fell asleep, only to be in for a restless night of nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Tell me everything. Now."_

"N-No…No…I don't know anything."

" _You're lying.~ I'm not stupid, Sam. You've somehow managed to predict every one of my moves, which means you know things, and I want to know where you got it from and how much you know…Now tell me!"_

"…No…It'll mess everything up…I-I can't…"

 _A gun was pressed to my temple, making me hold back a whimper and swallow thickly as sweat slid down the side of my face._

" _The games are over, Sam. I've been playing nice so far, but I'm_ very _changeable." The man smiled sickly sweet, caressing my cheek with his free hand. "Please don't make me resort to other means. I'd rather not get my new suit dirty."_

"I won't tell you…I-I won't…"

" _That's a shame. Perhaps a bit of incentive? They'll die if you don't…Everyone you've ever cared about."_

"No…p-please don't…don't hurt them…"

" _Then tell me what I want to know."_

 _I hesitated. I couldn't tell him, but if I didn't, he'd kill them all. I couldn't give him up. Not to this man. Not to…Moriarty._

" _Tick tock, Sammy~"_

 _I couldn't do it. They were all going to be killed because of me._

"Sorry…I-I'm sorry…I can't…"

" _That's a shame. I was hoping to spend a little more time with you, but now…you're just in the way."_

 _ **Bang!**_

* * *

I suddenly sat up, sweat practically pouring from my body as tears trailed down my face in the early morning glows of the sun peaking in through the window of 221B. The nightmare was far too realistic for my liking and it only further proved to me about how I needed to keep what I knew about _Sherlock_ a secret. _But it will slip sooner or later._ I thought, dragging a shaky hand down my face. _I can't hide it from Sherlock. One little slip and it's over. One slip…and everyone I know will be put in danger…_

"You talk in your sleep."

I jumped, heart practically pounding out of my chest as I stared in panic at the detective as he strolled out of the kitchen in his blue bathrobe.

"W-What?"

He raised a brow, a hot cup of coffee in his hand. "You _talk_ in your sleep. Though perhaps it was just because of the nightmare you were having. You're obviously hiding something if you're having nightmares about being threatened for information."

 _Don't think about it. He doesn't know anything, he's just deducing you in the hopes you'll give something away._ I slowly calmed down, sighing as I pulled a hand through my hair and got up. "Can I use your shower?"

Sherlock seemed surprised, before schooling his expression and moving to sit in his chair, not saying a word.

"I'll take that as a yes then." I muttered, grabbing a change of clothes from my suitcase and taking a shower, using my time in there to relax a bit and calm down after my nightmare.

Once I was far more relaxed, I came out wearing some skinny jeans, a white printed shirt, and a set of dog tags dangling from my neck as I dried my short hair with the towel I brought with me. Already though, I felt the chill seep in and I vowed to put on my hoodie as I glanced around the room.

"John's not here?" I asked, receiving silence, so I went to ask again only to have someone grab me from behind and put a rather large sword against my neck.

My eyes widened as my heart thudded wildly in my chest, the man speaking another language that I didn't quite understand. There was one word I understood though, even in his heavy accented language.

"S-Sherlock?" I questioned, feeling the man behind me press the sword to my neck tighter as his muffled whispering grew more aggressive. "I-I'm not him if that's w-what you're asking."

The man kept speaking in his other language and I was beginning to panic. _Isn't this the guy who attacks Sherlock in the beginning of the 'Blind Banker' episode? That w-would explain why John's not around, though I could use a bit of help from Sherlock right about now._ My eyes shifted to the kitchen, but I didn't spot the curly haired man and I took a deep stuttering breath to try and calm down. _Now's not the time to be a damsel in distress. If I want his respect, I have to be able to handle this on my own. No matter how afraid I am._

I quickly slammed my elbow into the man's gut, ignoring the sting of his sword cutting into me for now, and turning around to grab a fist full of his turban and smash his face into my knee. He fell to the ground, though not completely out, and I went to grab a thick book to knock him out with when he managed to get up and throw a punch. I just barely dodged it and smacked the flat of the book across his face, only for him to grab my ankle and pull me to the ground. I used the corner of the book to hit his hand and scrambled up and into the kitchen for something a bit harder to hit him with, but when I heard him come in, I was met by his sword and had to lean back across the table and scramble to keep him from slicing my head off.

I kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back and leaving a nasty mark on the wooden table. I then grabbed a dirty pan from the sink and hurried out into the living room, dodging a swing of his sword by leaning back and then standing upright, hitting him solidly across the head with the cast-iron pan, earning a nice thud and groan from the man as he hit the ground. Breathing hard, adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I felt a small smile twitch onto my lips as I twirled the pan in my hand.

"O-Oh mama, I have got to get me one of _these_." I said, copying a line I remembered from a Disney movie I watched not long ago in a vain attempt to keep calm. "R-Rapunzel knew what she was doing."

Just then, the door clicked open and Sherlock walked in, only taking a couple of steps before he caught sight of me and the man who had attacked me. He glanced at the frying pan in my hand and back to the man, before apparently getting a hold of himself.

"Well, he came sooner than I expected."

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away as I pulled a hand through my hair.

"Y-Yeah, well…you should keep better track of people trying to kill you and when they're coming to visit."

He hesitated, before nodding and approaching me, taking the pan from me slowly as though I was going to beat him with it next. He then went to put it away, giving me a glance from over his shoulder.

"You should, um, sit."

I nodded, doing as he said once I realized that my legs were shaking. Once sitting, I felt that panic from before, rear its ugly head as I realized what had just happened and what I just did. _T-That was an assassin…and I just…I knocked out an assassin! W-With a frying pan! Oh God. Are they going to come after me next? And what does this mean about the plot?! Sherlock was supposed to be fighting him, not me! What if everything changes just because of this?! Oh man, oh man, oh man. That's it. I've ruined everything. Moriarty knows now and Mycroft knows and everyone's going to die and—_

"You're bleeding."

My thoughts hit a dead end there are I lifted my head—which had been buried in my hands at some point—to find Sherlock glancing at me holding a small first aid kit. It took me a moment to realize what he was saying and I glanced down to realize that I _was_ bleeding. Seems the assassin had managed to cut me a bit pretty bad across my collar bone when I elbowed him and I hadn't noticed until now.

"Oh." I muttered out, mentally hitting myself in the head at how stupid I must've sounded. _Idiot! That's all you have to say? 'Oh'? You've just knocked out an assassin and are bleeding, thus ruining your favorite shirt, and all you can say is 'oh'?!_

"Let me…help." Sherlock said, coming over and pulling a chair up across from me, having bound the assassin while I was internally panicking.

He took out an alcohol swab then and pressed it to the wound, causing me to wince, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from complaining about the pain. He was pressing the swab a bit hard, letting me know he didn't often do this sort of thing, but he stayed silent through the process and sat back with a small grimace.

"It may need stitches. I'll have John look at it when he returns." He got up and went to put the medic kit back, leaving me on the couch to continue calming down.

 _Well, at least I'm alive and I handled that situation pretty well, if I do say so myself…Aw, who am I kidding? I could've_ died _. My brothers are going to kill me…_ I heard a groan then, letting me know that the assassin was waking up and I felt panic rise up again. The man lifted his head, catching sight of me and immediately going off in his own language as he struggled against his bonds. I already knew that he wasn't pleased about being knocked out by a frying pan and that only made me wince as he steadily grew more agitated.

Sherlock came back in the room then and proceeded to shout something back at the man in that language, before knocking him out again. Sherlock let out a huff and picked up his phone, calling someone to come pick him up—I'm guessing—before settling back down in his seat, eyeing me. His stare unnerved me and I found myself picking at that scab on the back of my hand before I realized it and stopped; deciding then that I needed to do something to get rid of the tense atmosphere since leaving it to Sherlock usually ended up with a fight of some sort.

"S-So, um, what language was that?"

"Arabic."

"Oh…Don't know that one."

"Not many people do."

I swallowed thickly, trying to keep the conversation going, but not wanting to make him uncomfortable by dragging it on.

"Do you know a lot of languages?"

"Over 30."

I let a small smile twitch onto my lips. "That's cool. I only know four."

He raised a brow. "Four?"

I nodded. "English, French, Korean, and Japanese."

"Odd variety."

"I had a phase, as my brothers call it. Asian cultures interested me and I was a quick learner, but French was just for knowledge's sake. Though now I barely remember much." I chuckled a bit. "Not enough people around me willing to converse in those languages."

"I see."

The conversation trailed off then before a knock came at the door and Sherlock got up, letting a couple of men in black suits come in and take the assassin away. Assuming they were Mycroft's men, I just watched them as they went about their business before Sherlock returned and sat down. Things grew quiet once more, until Sherlock spoke, now holding a book and pretending to read.

"Apologies for putting you through that."

My head snapped up in surprise, having not expect those words to come out of his mouth.

"W-What?"

"You heard me." He grumbled, glancing up from his book. "I'm not saying it again."

I couldn't help the grin that stretched across my face, making him roll his eyes before returning to his book as I settled on the couch and dug out my laptop to see what notes the professor sent me about what they did yesterday for class. _Reviewing criminal profiling and what to look for…Causes of what could cause people to become criminals…childhood trauma…mostly things I already know. No change there. I'll just have to make sure I read the chapters covering that in the textbook._ Just then, I heard footsteps come up the stairs and looked up to see John return looking less than pleased about something. He looked around, as if expecting something to have happened, but apparently found nothing.

"You took your time." Sherlock said, not even looking up from his book.

"Yeah. I didn't get the shopping."

Sherlock looked up in surprise, seeing that John really didn't have the shopping. "What? Why not? We need it since we have another person to feed."

John furrowed his brows, looking upset. " _Because_ I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-pin machine."

I blinked. "You mean those self-serving things at checkout?"

He turned to me. "You have those in America?"

"Of _course_ they do, John. Don't be stupid." Sherlock quipped.

I nodded. "They're a pain. 'Item not scanned'! 'Unexpected item in the bagging area'! Annoying little things." I said, mocking the automated voice, making John smile a bit.

"Right, well, have you got cash, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded towards the kitchen. "Take my card."

John headed into the kitchen to get it but stopped, looking slightly annoyed. "You could always go yourself, you know. You two have probably been sitting there all morning. I know you've not even moved since I left, Sherlock."

Sherlock acted nonchalant as he turned a page in his book, waving a hand at me. "Not true. Sam had a nasty fall and cut herself. You might want to check it though. Might need stitches."

John quickly glanced at me as I chuckled nervously with a little wave, him finally noticing the white bandage peaking out under my shirt collar, which was still red with blood.

"Jesus, Sam! Why didn't you say anything?" John said, grabbing his own medic kit and coming over, peeling the bandage from my wound and wincing. "Definitely needs stitches."

"I just didn't think it was that bad." I lied, trying to play it off as Sherlock had done.

"This may hurt a bit." He said, readying the stitches and glancing at me in concern.

"I'll be alright."

As he stitched me up, he went back to talking with Sherlock. "What happened about the case you were offered, Sherlock? The Jaria Diamond?"

"Not interested." He replied, snapping his book closed and sliding the assassin's sword that had been left under his seat out of sight. "I sent them a message."

 _You mean I did?_ I mentally sighed and John packed up his medic kit, giving me a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You might have a bit of scaring, but it'll heal up pretty quickly."

"Thanks." I muttered, before looking over at Sherlock. "Thank you too, Sherlock."

He raised a brow at me, but gave a miniscule nod as John headed into the kitchen once more and grabbed Sherlock's card, spotting the gash on the table and running his hand over it. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath, before glancing at me.

"Do you want to come with me, Sam? I don't know what you like and I would've asked before, but you were sleeping."

I got up, grabbing my hoodie and pulling it over my head with a cringe as my stitches stretched. "Sure. I'll come. You'll be okay, right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Please. Don't start acting like my brother."

I winced at the comment, but nodded. "I'll, uh, try not to."

With that, John and I headed out to do the shopping, taking a cab to the grocery when he decided to start up a conversation.

"So no fighting this morning then?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, turning back to watch the cabbie in the rear-view mirror out of boredom. "Well, not between me and Sherlock…Sherlock and I, I mean."

John raised a brow. "Who else would you be fighting with? Mrs. Hudson?"

"Or an Arab assassin." I muttered, making John laugh.

"Heh, can't say I'd be surprised."

 _He's taking it as a joke…Though I guess that's for the better. Who knows what he'd do if he knew I was telling the truth._

"Anything from your professor yet?" He asked, making small talk as the cab pulled up to the grocery.

"Just information on what the class went over yesterday while I was gone."

"Is it interesting?"

I nodded, eyes glancing around the grocery and spotting the cameras on the ceiling, automatically searching for blind spots in my idleness.

"Criminal profiling, childhood trauma, what could cause a person to become a criminal. Things like that. Mostly review for me though."

"You sound like you've taken the class before." John chuckled, having picked up a head of lettuce and dropped it in his cart.

"I've taken numerous criminology courses and I tend to…pick things up quickly." I scratched my cheek absentmindedly as John sent me a look.

"Well, that's good. You probably get some good grades then. My grades were average at best." He chuckled, looking nostalgic as he grabbed some milk.

"I probably could ace my classes, but I find a few Bs here and there."

John raised a brow. "If you could ace them, why don't you?"

I shrugged, starting to get nervous with the looks he was giving me. "Too much work, I guess…and I don't care for the attention it brings me."

"You weren't…bullied, were you?" He asked hesitantly.

"A bit, yeah. Kids would knock my lunch to the ground or if I asked them for food when I forgot my lunch, they'd throw it in the dirt and tell me to eat it if I wanted the rest…High school was a bit better."

"And you let them do that?!"

I looked at John, surprised at his little outburst. "I, uh, just put up with it, really. I actually got rid of a couple bullies by purposely making things worse for myself a few times…I kind of, uh, dipped a chip in dirt on purpose to get a bag of chips because some girls were teasing me. Though now that I think about it, they were probably jealous because I hung out with the guys all the time…"

John stared at me in surprise, mouth hanging open, and he stopped as I kept walking a couple of steps before noticing he wasn't beside me.

"What?"

"You were bullied and you not only let it happen, but you _showed off_?"

"I…suppose you could say that. It's not like things ever got violent."

John waved his hands wildly. "Wait, wait, wait. You said high school was better. How?"

"Hm." I hummed in thought, feeling more comfortable around John that I would've expected. "The few friends I had were pretty nice, though they did tease me on occasion about being smart. They also teased me quite a bit on my masculinity."

"I-I…see."

"I'd say it didn't bother me, but I guess it did on occasion." I said with a shrug as he grabbed some noodles and cans of soup.

"Well you seemed to have gotten over that."

"Yeah…" _Though sometimes I wonder if I actually have…It still hurts sometimes._

"Is there anything you want? Food-wise, I mean?" John asked.

I glanced around, thinking, before spotting the frozen aisle. "Could I get some ice cream? And hot chocolate, if they have any."

"Sure. Just grab whatever you want." He said with a kind smile. "Sherlock's the one who's paying after all."

I smiled at that and headed over to pick out some ice cream. "He is, isn't he."

Once I had grabbed my hot chocolate and a couple of quarts of ice cream, we headed to the checkout and this time, _I_ scanned the groceries and we somehow managed to get out of there without issue. When we showed back up at Baker Street though, we found Sherlock sitting there with John's laptop, his hands steepled in front of him.

"Is that my computer?"

"Of course."

"What?!"

"Mine was in the bedroom and I couldn't figure out the password to Sam's." Sherlock seemed to glare at me and I smirked a bit at that, putting away some of the groceries in the kitchen.

"And you couldn't be bothered to get up and get yours? And mine's password protected too!"

"Took me less than a minute to guess yours." Sherlock said, shifting his glance to him. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right. Thank you." John said, annoyed.

He closed his laptop, nearly pinching Sherlock's fingers in the process, and put it beside his armchair on the ground as he sat down. I had finished putting away the cold items from the grocery bags by then—thankfully no body parts in the fridge yet—and went into the living room to see John flipping through some mail. _Bills, most likely._ Sherlock though, had his hands steepled in front of him once more and appeared to be eyeing me, disgruntled.

"How could I not figure it out?" He muttered, catching my attention.

"My password?" I questioned, to which he narrowed his eyes. _I guess so._ "I just pick a set of eight random letters and numbers a week and memorize them."

His eyes widened, as John too, looked up in shock.

"You do what?"

"Why?"

It was my turn to raise a brow. "I have two overprotective, nosy older brothers, who now have degrees in law and engineering. Why wouldn't I?"

"Good point." Sherlock hummed, going back into his thought process as John glanced back at the bills with a shake of his head, dumfounded.

"Need to get a job." He complained.

"Oh, dull." Sherlock quipped back.

I waved my hand. "I could get one too, if you want."

John shook his hand. "Oh no. You don't have to do that. You're our guest!"

"Doesn't mean I couldn't help you out. You're paying for my food and stuff anyway. I wouldn't mind. I've actually been told that a job helps keep me occupied and focused."

"Your therapist told you that." Sherlock commented, making me flinch.

"Y-Yeah."

"Hmph. Boring."

Sensing the tension rising once more, John turned to Sherlock leaning forward a bit in his seat.

"Listen, um, if you'd be able to lend me some—" He cut himself off, frowning at Sherlock. "Sherlock, are you listening?"

"I need to go to the bank." Sherlock suddenly announced, standing and heading for his coat. "Come along, Sam, John."

I sighed and John rolled his eyes before we both got up and hurried after him, squeezing into a cab on the way to, undoubtedly, the bank where the Black Lotus group left a message for a light-fingered smuggler.

* * *

Now, I may have known what the bank was like from the _Sherlock_ series, but that still didn't prepare me for seeing it firsthand.

"Whoa…"

"Yes, now when you said we were going to the bank…" John muttered, as we passed through the rotating glass door and onto an escalator.

The building had that more modern feel too it, with the extensive amount of glass used in the structure. The technology they were using in the security was also top notch. They had everything from extensive security camera coverage to card keys to metal detectors, though I personally thought it was a bit overkill. I was looking over the different times displayed around the room, when we approached the front desk and Sherlock announced ourselves.

It didn't take long for the secretary to confirm our meeting with Sebastian—Sherlock's old colleague, from what I remember—and we were sent to wait in his office until he arrived. His office was pretty dull looking, even with the couple of paintings and potted plants outside on his balcony, and I fidgeted as boredom began to settle in. Finally, Sebastian walked in and came over to shake Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"Sebastian."

They shook hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock's in both of his and, though Sebastian seemed pretty pleased to see him, I could Sherlock was less than excited.

"This is my friend, John Watson and Sam Foxe, a college student assisting me."

"Friend?" Sebastian asked, seeming surprised, and John was quick to correct him as they shook hands.

"Colleague."

"And you're a friend too then?" Sebastian asked, looking at me and shaking my hand as well, though I wish he didn't.

"Just a, uh, assistant, I guess." I muttered, not really caring for the way Sebastian eyed my appearance in distaste.

Sebastian forced a smile on his face before scratching his neck and heading behind his desk to sit, asking if we needed anything before waving off his secretary. The moment she was out of the room, Sherlock smirked a bit.

"So you're doing well. You've been abroad a lot." Sherlock commented.

"Well…some."

"Flying all the way round the world, twice in a month?"

Sebastian laughed. "Heh, right. You're doing that thing." He glanced at us briefly. "We were at Uni together. This guy here had a _trick_ he would do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock said, quietly.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

"Yes, I've…seen him do it." John replied.

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him."

My hand twitched at that, remembering a few choice instances where I had done something similar, making my own enemies in school. When I looked at Sherlock though, I could tell that Sebastian was making _him_ uncomfortable too. As much as I wanted to get Sebastian to shut up though, I was worried that doing so would mess up the plot somehow. _Sherlock_ does _get back at him…but it doesn't mean I like what this guy's saying._

"You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

"I simply observed." Sherlock said.

"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world. You're quite right. How could you tell?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, but Sebastian cut him off.

"You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my _tie_ from some special kind of _ketchup_ you can only buy in Manhattan."

John smirked towards the ceiling, but I frowned.

"No, I—"

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes."

Sherlock stared for a moment, but before he could say the lie about talking to Sebastian's secretary, I spoke.

"Your watch."

Sebastian turned to me, as did Sherlock and John, all three of them surprised, though Sherlock quickly narrowed his eyes inquisitively.

"What's that?"

I gestured to his watch. "The date's wrong but the time's right. You crossed the dateline twice and your watch is brand new. Came out recently. February, I think." I turned away from him then, looking at the painting on the wall to avoid eye contact as I scratched at the scab on the back of my hand.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me, making me swallow in nervousness until Sebastian let out a humorless chuckle.

"Another weirdo? What did you do, pick him up off the street?"

I grit my teeth with a small frown and kicked John in the shin when he went to speak up, sending him a glare that told him to just let it go. Sebastian soon stopped laughing, though the smirk is still on his face, and he clapped his hands together, bringing us back to the matter at hand.

"Well, I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."

He stood up then, and we followed him out, though John hung back with me, grabbing my arm and speaking in hushed whispers as we walked out onto the trading floor.

"Why'd you stop me before? You and I both know he didn't have a right to say that!"

"Because John." I whispered back, keeping an eye on Sherlock and Sebastian to make sure they weren't listening in. "It didn't matter what he said about me. I don't care."

"That face you made said otherwise." He grumbled.

"That's because he's an annoying git." I complained back. "But that doesn't matter because I was only trying to keep his attention off Sherlock."

"What? Why?"

"You can't tell me you didn't notice." I said, glancing at the tall detective. "Even I could tell he hates the man. Besides, they know each other. I will probably never see Sebastian again, so what do I care what he thinks of me? But Sherlock wouldn't have taken this job if he didn't care at least a tiny bit about Sebastian's case."

"But what does that have to do with—"

I sighed. "If _Sherlock_ upsets Sebastian by being cocky, all access he has to this case is gone. So if I replace Sherlock in that aspect, then Sherlock gets to enjoy Sebastian being surprised as if he was doing the deductions, _and_ he gets to stay on the case."

"I…guess that makes sense." John mused.

Sherlock turned around then with an annoyed look. "Are you two done whispering like children? We have a case to solve."

I nodded, walking a bit faster to catch up to him and Sebastian as the man led us to the office where the crime happened.

"Sir William's office; the bank's former chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sebastian replied, turning around for a moment. "Just left a little message."

He then scanned his card key and opened the door to the office where the painting of Sir William had been vandalized with yellow spray paint; a solid line across his face and another symbol on its left. I swallowed back the urge to just go out and say what it was and end this whole thing before it even started, but I didn't know what consequences that would cause and kept my mouth shut as Sebastian brought us back to his office and showing us the security footage.

"Sixty seconds apart." He said, pushing a few keys on his computer to switch between the images of 11:33pm last night and 11:34pm. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, and left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?"

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting." Sebastian said with a smirk, leading us down to the front desk while I began thinking.

 _Is there anything I_ can _tell them? I can't let anything important slip or who knows what'll happen. I have to make sure I have evidence to back it up too. I can't just go out and say 'Oh hey, Sherlock? You know those symbols? Yeah, they're a book code made from that ancient Chinese number system that traders use. And the book key? It's London A-Z. How do I know? Well…I just do.'_ I frowned. _Yeah, no way is that going to work…But what can I do? Nothing from what I see…Wait. Maybe I could keep John from being kidnapped. I could be the bait and—Could I handle that?_ Doubt started to sink in and along with it, fear. _I was scared when I faced that assassin earlier…and as much as I want to be that brave, confident, fighting person, I don't know if I can. I'm just a college student. I don't know anything about these people other than what the show explained. And worst of all, they're actual killers. They're not afraid to just shoot me or strangle me. So…could I_ really _handle being put in that life or death situation?_

"Come along, Sam."

I jumped, eyes wide as Sherlock suddenly walked away, forcing me to trail after him without knowing exactly what was going on. I soon figured it out though when I realized John wasn't following and that Sherlock was leading us back up to the office. He pulled out his phone and began photographing the graffiti, but spoke to me.

"You're more observant than I expected."

I swallowed thickly, scratching the back of my head and looking out the window, trying to think up a good lie. "N-Not really. You said he went around the world twice in one month. I just looked for information that supported that."

I could feel him watching me before he turned to the window as well.

"Pull those curtains up."

I quickly glanced at him, before nodding and doing as he asked. He then smirked.

"Are you afraid of heights?"

"Not that I know of…why?"

His smirk grew bigger and he grabbed my arm, pulling me out the window and standing on the ledge along with me as I struggled not to look down. _O-Oh man…I may not be afraid of heights, but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid of falling!_ Sherlock must have caught my look, because he smirked.

"Something wrong?"

I glared at him, cheeks slightly flushed due to embarrassment. "You _know_ what's wrong."

"I _did_ ask." He said with a roll of his eyes.

I turned my head and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to forget where I was. "And I'm not afraid of heights…I do, however, don't really care for falling."

I, unfortunately, took a brief glance down and paled, quickly looking back up and closing my eyes while taking a deep breath in the attempts to calm myself. _I can practically_ feel _him smirking at me…He's the one who jumped though, and that…that always got to me._

"Sam."

I flinched, losing my footing for a split instant, before Sherlock pulled me up and pushed me back into the office. I hit the ground with a small 'thud' and opened my shut eyes, looking up at him in a panic as my heart beat quickly in my chest. Sherlock looked down at me with a scowl, moving towards the office door.

"Pay attention."

"R-Right." I said, bowing my head as my hands shook slightly and I stood. "Sorry."

I hurried after him, still trying to calm down after my scare, and seeing Sherlock duck down and pop back up again behind some computers, had me on the verge of laughing. _H-He's doing the pillars check, but…it's so funny! He looks like a prairie dog!_ I began to snicker, when he turned to me and pointed over towards another area of the trading floor.

"Don't stand there giggling like a child. Go stand over there and tell me if you can see the message."

"A-Alright." I said, still fighting a smile as I did what he asked. "Nope. I can't see it."

He nodded, moving to another area as I did the same.

"Anything?"

I shook my head, moving again as Sherlock hurried into an office and checked there. I felt kind of silly mimicking Sherlock, but it felt good to get a little laugh. It was only now that I realized how stressed I had been and getting a good laugh seemed to do the trick, myself already feeling better.

"Found it." Sherlock announced, and I smiled, heading over to him as he waved a card from the office he had been in.

I nodded and followed him back downstairs where John was waiting, a silly grin on my face. John glanced between us with a confused look.

"Did I miss something?"

I nodded. "Yup. Sherlock was—"

I was cut off as Sherlock covered my mouth with his hand and gave me a glare, turning to John.

"I was just explaining what I had found and she thought something I said was amusing."

Sherlock removed his hand as I looked away to try and hide the redness in my cheeks, and John eyed me curiously.

"Is that so?"

I turned to him with a nervous grin. "Y-Yeah. That's it."

"Okay." He didn't look convinced, but gave in for now, looking back at Sherlock. "So do you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"Hm?"

"That graffiti was a message…for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and…" He trailed off, waiting for us to come to our own conclusions.

"…we find the person who sent it." I said.

"Obvious."

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John asked.

"Pillars."

"Oh!" I said, faking surprise.

"What?" John looked between the two of us confused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Pillars and screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at 11:34 last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it."

I nodded, glancing around as we exited the bank. "Only a few people would be here at that time of night."

"That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." Sherlock then showed John the place card. "Not many _Van Coon's_ in the phone-book. Taxi!"

He hailed a cab and we hopped in, heading off to the address he looked up, before turning to me.

"So what have you deduced?"

I looked at him, confused. "What?"

He rolled his eyes. "The _case_ , Sam. What have you figured out about the case?"

"Oh, um…" I closed my eyes, furrowing my brows as I thought.

 _I can't give away anything important. He already explained the pillars and giving him the meaning behind the message would be bad, even if I just gave him the numbers. What else could I figure out?_ I thought of something and opened my eyes.

"I think I know how he got in."

"Do you?" He said, dubiously.

"Well, there's no way to come in through the door—"

"He could have stolen a card key." Sherlock said, eyes shining mischievously.

 _He's testing me…_ I shook my head. "No, because then he or she would've been caught on some of the other cameras."

He nodded. "A ventilation shaft then."

"That wouldn't work either, because—though they're capable of fitting a person—they wouldn't be able to handle that much weight."

Sherlock began to smirk. "So how did he do it?"

"He climbed." I said, feeling my own smile try to form on my face. "Climbed up the side of the building and onto the balcony."

"Impossible." John suddenly said, reminding me that he too, was in the cab.

"That's not true." I said, turning to him. "Because of how the building was designed, there was an area where someone could climb up…though they'd have to have a lot of upper arm strength."

"Hm. Good job, Sam." Sherlock said, surprising me, but making me smile a bit.

 _It's been a long time since I've been genuinely praised…I…miss it…_ I thought, as I settled down for the ride to Van Coon's place, having forgotten just how dangerous this case was going to get.


	3. Chapter 3

We soon arrived at a block of flats and once Sherlock found the buzzer for Van Coon, he pressed it, but there was no answer. He pushed it again, but still nothing.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" John questioned.

Sherlock looked around for a second, before responding. "Just moved in."

"What?"

"The floor above. New label." He said, pointing to another buzzer.

"Could've just replaced it."

"No one ever does that."

Just then, a feminine voice came over the speaker box. "Hello?"

Sherlock smiled, putting on an act that had me struggling to keep from laughing. "Hi, um, I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met."

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in."

Sherlock turned to us both with a smug grin, before looking back at the security camera.

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat." He said, biting his lip.

"You want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

"What?"

"It's the only way I'll be able to get in." He explained.

"Oh…Well, alright then."

The door buzzed and Sherlock smirked triumphantly as we all headed in. Once we'd reached the woman's flat, Sherlock turned to look at John.

"John, I want you to wait for Sam and I outside Van Coon's flat."

"What? Why?"

I glanced between the two of them, also very confused.

Sherlock though, rolled his eyes as he knocked on the door. "Because, John."

The woman answered and let us in as John headed down to Van Coon's flat, but I felt a bit bad. _It feels like I'm almost taking John's place. I don't want to do that. John is…he's Sherlock's best friend. If I take that away, not only will I end up hurting them both, but it'll mess up the plot really bad._ I felt upset about that, but had no time to think about it before Sherlock pulled me in after him and we headed to the balcony. He started to climb over the side, but looked at me with furrowed brows.

"What's wrong?"

I looked up and shook my head, passing a hand through my hair. "Nothing…Maybe I should go down and meet with John."

"No." He said; more like demanded. "It's not that big of a drop and I need you to help me find clues."

He dropped himself over to the balcony below and I sighed.

"That's not why I don't want to go…" I muttered, before reluctantly climbing over the side of the balcony too, dropping down below with a cringe; having rolled my ankle in the landing.

Once I stood, favoring my right ankle, I followed after Sherlock as he walked into Van Coon's living room. It looked pretty modern with white leather furniture and nice black tables, missing the expected mess of a bachelor. There were some books stacked up on a side table and I skimmed my eyes over them as Sherlock went into the kitchen and checked the man's fridge, as the door buzzer went off a few times.

"Sherlock! Sam! Are you two okay?"

"We're fine!" I called back, though not answering the door to let him in as I wandered into the hall.

"Yeah, any time you two feel like letting me in."

I watched as Sherlock peaked into the bathroom before checking the bedroom doors to find them locked.

"You, uh, want some help?" I questioned, earning a raised brow from the man as I held up a small black case I kept on me, containing a lock picking set.

What can I say? _Sherlock_ influenced me in a lot of ways.

"No. Would take too long." He replied, before slamming his shoulder into the door and breaking it open, the two of us walking into the room to find Van Coon lying dead on the bed with a single gunshot through the temple.

Now, I could handle a bit of blood and I've seen photos of dead bodies and such, but being there with a dead body in person was a _lot_ different. The ashen white skin, the lifeless eyes, the blood dripping down the side of his head. I felt myself swallowing the bile building up in my throat and, upon seeing my internal dilemma, Sherlock spoke to me.

"Sam, let John in and tell him to call Scotland Yard. Ask for Detective Inspector Lestrade."

I heard him, but my eyes were fixed on the body and I hadn't yet moved.

"Sam!"

I jumped, looking up at him as he nodded to the door, before I walked out and let John in, explaining the situation. Once he'd finished calling the Yard, he turned to me.

"You okay?"

I nodded, though my voice trembled slightly. "Y-Yeah. It's just…the classes don't really prepare you for the real thing, you know?"

I gave him a miniscule smile and he nodded, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"That's okay. It happens to everyone. Do you want to wait out here?"

I shook my head, steeling my nerves. "No. I can do it…I think…"

He nodded. "Don't push yourself. You're free to walk out if it's too much."

The two of us entered the room as soon as the police had shown up, standing beside Sherlock as they set up their equipment and began taking photographs and dusting for fingerprints. I'd noticed that Sherlock had taken his coat off and was in the process of putting on a pair of latex gloves, which John and I also did.

"Do you think he's lost a lot of money?" John asked, arms folded as the three of us looked down at the body. "Suicide is pretty common among city boys."

"We don't know it's suicide." I said, looking over at him. "We shouldn't make conclusions just because of what it looks like."

"Come on." John said, giving me a look before turning to Sherlock as he ruffled through Van Coon's laundry. "The door was locked from the inside. You two had to climb down the balcony."

I shrugged, watching Sherlock as he rifled through Van Coon's things.

"Been away three days, judging by the laundry." He stood then, looking at the two of us.

"Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks. I'll take your word for it." John said, and Sherlock turned his gaze to me.

"Sam?"

I cringed a little, having shifted my weight to my bad ankle for a moment.

"I'd, uh, rather not."

"Problem?"

"Yeah." John said. "I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

Sherlock glanced at me as I fidgeted quietly, before dropping it.

"Those symbols at the bank. The graffiti. Why were they put there?"

"Some sort of code?" John offered as Sherlock went towards the body and began looking it over.

"Obviously. Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use email?"

"Maybe he wasn't answering."

"Oh good. You follow."

John turned to me and I shrugged, playing the idiot card for now.

"Mm, nope." John said to Sherlock, who looked up from digging through the body's clothes.

"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"

"A death threat?" I suggested.

Sherlock pulled out something black from the man's mouth, making me cringe.

"Yes. He was being threatened."

"Not by the gas board." John said, having leaned close to look at the origami flower Sherlock put away into an evidence bag, the same moment Dimmock walked into the room.

"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." Sherlock said, walking over to the man and holding out a hand, only for Dimmock to frown at him and place his hands on his hips.

"Yeah. I know who you are, and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Sherlock reluctantly handed over the origami flower to the man. "I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge…and it's not Sergeant. It's Detective Inspector Dimmock."

The man turned around to head back into the living room and Sherlock looked at us in disbelief that Dimmock would act this way towards him. The three of us followed after the man though, as he announced what he thought.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"It does seem the only explanation of all the facts." John said, making me frown.

"Not it doesn't." I muttered quietly as Sherlock turned around looking frustrated.

"Wrong! It's one _possible_ explanation of _some_ of the facts. You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?"

"The wound's on the _right_ side of his head."

"And?"

"Van Coon was left handed." Sherlock quipped back, twisting his arms about his head to explain. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left handed?" Dimmock said, voice a bit high.

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat." He said, pointing at the couch. "Coffee table on the left hand side, coffee mug handle pointing to the left, power sockets habitually used the ones on the left, pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. You want me to go on?"

"No. I think you've covered it." John said.

"Oh, I might as well. I'm almost at the bottom of the list. Sam? You want to give it a go?"

"O-Oh, um…the knife in the kitchen has butter on the right side…because he spread it with his left?"

Sherlock nodded, turning to Dimmock impatiently. "Hence, it's highly unlikely that a left handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion, someone broke in here and murdered him. _Only_ explanation of _all_ of the facts."

"But the gun, why—"

"He was waiting for the killer." I said, piping up now that I had a bit of confidence. "He had been threatened."

Sherlock turned and gave me a smug grin, before grabbing his scarf and putting it on along with his coat as John explained to Dimmock about the warning at the bank.

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Sherlock said, catching everyone's attention again.

"And the bullet?"

"Out the open window." I muttered, slowly smiling.

Dimmock though, wasn't convinced. "Oh come on. What are the chances of that? You expect me to believe some _kid_?"

I frowned, but Sherlock came to my defense, surprisingly enough.

"Sam is no mere kid, detective. Already found more than you and your officers did. And wait until you get a look at the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it."

Dimmock gave me a glance as I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

I went to mention that I believed the killer climbed, but Sherlock cut me off before I could.

" _Good._ You're finally asking the _right_ questions."

He left the room then and John and I shared a glance before following him out, the three of us taking a cab somewhere, but before I could get out of the cab to follow them, Sherlock pushed me back in.

"Stay. We won't be long."

I stared up at him in surprise. "What? But why?"

He bent over and grabbed my ankle, enticing a pained yelp from me as he stood back upright.

"You twisted it on the landing. I'm not stupid. Now stay."

I frowned, but gave in and sat back in the cab as Sherlock and John headed into the restaurant, silently wondering why Sherlock was being so nice to me. _Maybe he feels guilty? About the whole assassin thing this morning?_ They didn't take too long and we were soon back at Baker Street, where John wrapped up my ankle and told me to put some ice on it. I did as he said and stayed up most of the night typing away at the paper I was going to need finished soon, putting in as many vague details as I could, so as not to incriminate anyone or give out any names. By the time I finished, it was nearing 3am and I sighed upon realizing that, not only had I gotten carried away with my paper, but I was not even close to being tired and my hand twitched; wanting to do something, be it writing or violin playing or a smoke. _I'd prefer violin, but it_ is _three in the morning and I don't want to upset John...and my violin's not here, I forgot…_ I sighed and glanced over at Sherlock, whose eyes were closed, hands steepled under his chin. _I don't want to disturb him either. Taking_ his _violin would probably be taboo…but I don't feel like writing and I'm not even the slightest bit tired. My brothers will be ticked if they realize my insomnia is back…_ I grimaced at the thought when Sherlock's voice suddenly snapped me out of my thoughts.

"If you want me to play, then I'll play."

"W-Wha…but John—"

Sherlock cracked open an eye and glared at me. "He's sleeping and your fidgeting is annoying." He reached over and pulled out his violin and bow.

I reluctantly gave in, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't leave me be until he got me to sleep or something, so he pulled out the old instrument, tuned it and lifted it to his chin. _I_ was always nervous about playing in front of people, but I found if I closed my eyes, it was easier for me to get lost in what I was playing. Sherlock, surprisingly, was doing that now and soon, my own eyes slid closed as he began to play a smooth, soft, sad melody. After that, he began playing other songs and eventually stopped sometime after the sun rose. I was a little tired, but not enough to warrant sleep and John came downstairs with a yawn, fully dressed and looking ready to go out and get a job. He spotted us though and paused, eyeing the violin Sherlock was putting away.

"That was you playing?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not providing him an answer.

I shifted nervously before getting up to grab a bit to eat. "I couldn't sleep. Sorry."

He shook his head. "No. It's, uh…It's fine. Sherlock does it all the time anyway, so I'm used to it."

He smiled reassuringly before grabbing a piece of bread and quickly making some toast as I made tea and coffee and grabbed an apple, hopping up on the counter and chomping down on it as I gazed off into space. Not soon enough, the kettle went off and I hopped down to pour the hot water into my cup and some into Sherlock's mug.

"You want any, John?"

He shook his head, grabbing his toast. "No thanks, Sam. I'm off out to get an interview for a job."

I glanced at him from over my shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want me to find one? I don't mind helping out."

"It's up to you if you want to or not. I'm not going to make you help with the bills since we're technically the ones who decided to bring you along, but if you want to, I'm not going to stop you."

I nodded, smiling a bit as I picked up the glasses. "Okay. I'll see what I can find. I probably need some extra spending cash anyway. My brothers wanted souvenirs."

He chuckled as I rolled my eyes and headed into the living room, setting Sherlock's coffee down on the table in front of him and returning to the kitchen to grab my half-eaten apple. When I went back in, John was putting on his coat and turned to look at Sherlock, who apparently hadn't moved since last night.

"Sherlock, I'm heading out. I'd say keep an eye on Sam, but I think _she's_ the one keeping an eye on you." John turned to me with a grin and he waved before leaving.

It took Sherlock a moment to move, but he finally did and spotted the coffee on the table.

"Where's John?"

"Job interview." I said, apple in one hand, legs crossed in the more masculine fashion, which were holding up my notebook that I was skimming through. "I made you coffee. It's not poisoned. Promise."

He eyed it, but picked it up and sipped it, eyes widening.

"John told me. If that's what you're wondering." I lied, assuming that he was surprised that I knew what he liked in his coffee, and took a bite from my apple.

"Hm." Sherlock drank some more, settling back in his chair as I set my notebook aside and grabbed the newspaper instead, going to the job section. "Dull."

I glanced up with a raised brow.

"I'll pay you."

I shook my head. "No point in me getting paid by you when you don't take money from your clients and I'm going to be helping pay _your_ bills."

Sherlock smirked, setting his cup down. "Ah, so _this_ is your true self. I was wondering when you were going to show it. I didn't expect you to get comfortable so soon."

I frowned a bit, but went back to looking through the paper. "Yeah, well…Why hide it when you're just going to figure it out anyway?"

"Apathetic, semi-intelligent, curious, introverted, and _fiery._ Oh, how I would enjoy seeing you and my brother together in the same room."

I played dumb. "You mean that crazy guy who tried to kidnap me?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and steepled his hands under his chin. "The very one."

I let out a long sigh. "I wouldn't get anywhere with him. Once I get to know people I ease up a bit, but strangers are…a different story." I muttered, writing an address down on a piece of paper and tearing it out of John's notepad that was on the end table beside me, before standing with a grimace, ankle still sore. "I'm, uh, going to head out. I might have found someplace I can work for a little while without interfering with cases." I paused after pulling on my hoodie, looking at Sherlock from over my shoulder. "If I get kidnapped by your brother, I'll, uh, shoot you a text."

"If he offers you money to spy on me, take it. We can split it."

I chuckled and nodded, leaving and heading out to hail a cab, giving the cabbie the address and enjoying the quiet ride to my possible job.

* * *

John walked back into Baker Street after his interview and Sherlock, who had moved to sitting and staring at the wall full of case notes and photographs, called out to him.

"I said, 'could you pass me a pen'?"

"What? When?"

"'bout an hour ago."

John sighed and began searching for a pen. "Didn't notice I'd gone out, then." He tossed it to Sherlock and headed over to the wall Sherlock was staring at. "I went to see about a job at that surgery. I'm surprised Sam didn't tell you." He looked around the room once more. "Where is she?"

"Searching for a job. Said she'll text should my brother catch her." Sherlock replied, eyes still scanning the photos. "How was it? The interview?"

"It's great. She's great."

"Who?"

John looked at him, suddenly realizing what he'd let slip. "The job."

"'She'?"

"…It." He said, trying to cover up his mistake. "And don't you think we should be a bit worried about Sam?"

"She's not a child, John, so stop treating her like one."

John sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. "I guess you're right."

"Of course, I'm right." Sherlock scoffed, before nodding towards the laptop open on his desk. "Here, have a look."

"Hm?"

John went over and looked at the news article that was on the screen. "The intruder who can walk through walls."

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon."

"God, you think…"

"He's killed another one."

Just then, his phone went off and he pulled it out, looking at the text he'd received.

"Perfect." He stood up and grabbed his coat with John standing there confused. "Come along, John."

"Where are we going? What about Sam?"

"Scotland Yard. She'll meet us there."

They soon arrived at the Yard to find a frustrated looking Sam. John was the first to hurry over and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright, Sam?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

"No you're—"

"John." Sherlock said, almost snapping.

John stopped and looked down at Sam with worry, but stayed silent as the three of them headed inside Scotland Yard. Once Sherlock had asked to meet with Detective Inspector Dimmock, they waited only a moment before heading over to his desk.

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat." Sherlock turned the detective's laptop round to show the article he'd shown John not long ago. "Doors locked from the inside."

"You got to admit, it's similar." John said, eyeing the man. "Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls."

Sam just stood by, silently, hands stuffed in her pockets to keep from fidgeting impatiently.

"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?"

Dimmock looked down, pursing his lips as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You _have_ seen the ballistics report, I suppose."

Dimmock nodded.

"And the shot that killed him? Was it fired from his own gun?"

"No."

"No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker, if you were to take my word as gospel."

Dimmock looked reluctant and Sherlock leaned closer to further push the man.

"I've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes. In his flat."

Dimmock reluctantly agreed and began packing up his things, as Sherlock grabbed Sam's wrist and tugged her down the hall, leaving John floundering.

"Sherlock?!"

"We're going on ahead!" He called back, rushing out of the building with Sam in tow.

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock didn't hear her.

"Sherlock."

Still no response as he hurried down the stairs and into the lobby.

"Sherlock!"

He stopped, turning around with a glare, but seeing something was wrong.

"Could you…slow down? Just a bit? My ankle…"

Sherlock had completely forgotten that Sam's ankle was injured and he stared down at it briefly before nodding and taking the walk a bit slower until they were outside and he hailed a cab. Once in the cab, he turned to Sam with a frown.

"What happened?"

Sam looked back, confused. "Wha—"

"With my brother. What did he do?"

"N-Nothing."

Sherlock grew angrier. "Hands quivering, clenched jaw and fists, eyes scanning the room frantically. You were angry. Why?"

Sam frowned slightly, glaring at him. "Well, maybe I don't appreciate being kidnapped."

"That's not it. You _knew_ it was going to happen. You're not stupid, as much as you want the rest of the world to believe so. Now tell me. _What happened?_ "

Sam's glare softened and she glanced down, but looked up at Sherlock. "Have you ever been afraid of something, Sherlock?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

"As a kid, or adult. Death? Fire? The dark? Crowds?"

He scowled ever so slightly, an image coming to mind, but he shoved it back. "No."

Sam smiled a little, though the gesture was broken, tainted with something other than happiness. "I am…I'm afraid of a few things. Loneliness…Failure…Losing people…"

"He threatened you." Sherlock concluded.

Sam nodded, frown returning. "Nothing much. I feel stupid just for being so angry about it, but… everyone has a pressure point. And you're jerk of a brother is pretty good at finding them, it seems."

"Hm." _She's hiding something…though I doubt she will tell it to me now._ Sherlock relaxed back in his seat, but his eyes went down to Sam who, while looking visibly calmer now, still fidgeted uncomfortably. "Is your ankle alright?"

Sam nodded, not stopping her nervous habits like Sherlock expected. _I'll need something more then._ _Something to distract her and keep her occupied…_

"This case."

"Huh?" Sam questioned, looking up with slightly curious eyes.

 _Got you._ Sherlock held back a smile. "I expect you to find some evidence in this case when we get to Brian Lukis's home."

Sam finally smiled with a mock salute. "Yes, sir."

Sherlock didn't know why, but he liked it when Sam smiled. Sure, he liked to tease her and get into debates with her, but he found her smile a lot better. Of course, the moment he thought this, he threw the thought to the back of his mind and instead focused on the task at hand; finding out who killed Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis.

* * *

I felt a bit better after Sherlock's little pick-me-up and followed him, Dimmock, and John up the stairs to Lukis' flat. The first thing I noticed was the little black origami flower on the ground and the pure amount of clutter around the room. _Definitely a bachelor's home._ I thought, watching as Sherlock went over to the window and peeked outside.

"Four floors up. _That's_ why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut, they think they're impregnable. They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."

"I don't understand." Dimmock said, clueless.

I already knew that the windows had been bolted shut from what I remembered about this case, and I also knew that the skylight was the most likely place the killer could come from, so I pointed it out to Sherlock and the others.

"What about the skylight, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded with a grin, heading over to said skylight and hopping up on a box to get a better look. "We're dealing with a killer who can climb."

"What're you doing?"

"He clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock said, pushing the skylight open. "That's how he got in."

"What?"

"He climbed up the side of the walls." I said. "And then slipped in through the skylight from the roof."

"You're not serious…Like Spiderman?" Dimmock said, giving me a disbelieving look, to which I frowned.

"I'd like to see you come up with a better explanation." I said, keeping confident. "I could do it, if you want. It's not that hard if you know parkour or acrobatics."

"Is that so?" Dimmock said, frowning at me.

"He scaled _six_ floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon."

"Oh, h-hold on!" Dimmock said, turning back to Sherlock and not even giving me the time of day.

Sherlock didn't stop though. "And of course, that's how he got into the bank. He'd run along the window ledge and onto the terrace." Sherlock climbed down and began looking around as I did the same. "We have to find out what connects these two men."

"He's got a lot of books, Sherlock." I said. "He's got to get them from somewhere. Maybe that'll give us a hint?"

He nodded and scooted past me, picking up a book off the top of a pile and flipping it open. Without saying a word, he snapped the book closed and hurried out of the flat, forcing me and John to hurry after him before he left us behind. My ankle was giving me a bit of trouble with all the running around, but I stayed strong for now, though I was grateful of the escalators in the large library. Unfortunately, Sherlock was in such a hurry that we had to climb up them and once we found out where the book was taken from, I leaned against the shelves to keep the weight off my ankle.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." Sherlock said, pulling out some books and checking them.

John was the one to find the message though. "Sherlock."

Sherlock headed over and began pulling books off the shelf, revealing the same message from the bank. Heaving a sigh, we replaced the books and John alerted one of the staff about the graffiti before we went back to Baker Street. John and Sherlock stood in front of the mirror over the mantelpiece, while I sat on the couch with an ice pack on my ankle.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies." Sherlock said, followed by John.

"The killer finds Lukis at the library. He writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen. Lukis goes home…"

"Later that night, he dies too." I hummed from the couch.

"Why did they die, Sherlock?" John breathed out as Sherlock brushed a finger over a photograph.

"Only the cipher can tell us."

He turns his head then, tapping his fingers on the photo, before glancing at me.

"Sam, do you know anything about this graffiti?"

"Huh?" I tilted my head in confusion, though on the inside I was panicking.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The symbols, the paint, anything."

I closed my eyes, thinking to myself. _This isn't good. I knew he'd ask about it, but not this soon. What should I tell him? I can't tell him what it is and if I suggest Chinese, he'll probably figure it out too quick. I could tell him the paint type, but then he'd ask how I knew and I don't have a good answer for that that won't bring up my past…There's nothing I could give him…_ I sighed, shaking my head.

"Sorry, Sherlock. I've got nothing."

"Ugh, useless." He groaned, making me internally cringe as a miniscule frown formed on my face.

" _I just want to be needed!"_

I turned my head to the side quickly, searching for the voice, but no one was there.

"Sam?"

I turned around to see John giving me an odd look as Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf, eyeing me as well. I just gave a nervous chuckle.

"Heh, sorry. Spaced out a bit there."

They watched me for a bit longer, before Sherlock fixed his scarf and spoke to me the moment I went to get up.

"No need, Sam. We won't be that long."

"What? But I can help!" I called out, not liking that I was being left behind again.

John, though, was also against it. "Sorry Sam. He's right. You're ankle's not healed yet and we've already been walking all over the place. It'd be better if you stayed here."

I hated the tone he used and scowled as I raised my voice. "I'm twenty-one years old, John! I'm not a child! I can make my own decisions!"

"Then make an intelligent one and stay put." Sherlock scolded, eyes set in a glare. "I can't have you possibly holding us back, Sam. So stop this childishness and grow-up."

I stared back at him, hurt by his words, but he swiftly hurried out the door with John following behind, sending me one last look before disappearing down the stairs as well. Once I heard the door close, I dropped my head, hands fisted around the union jack pillow I had taken off John's chair, before I threw the object across the room with a curse.

"Dammit!"

The pillow fell to the ground limply as I fumed on the couch. _What did I expect? Of course they were going to keep me here. I'm nothing more than a tag-along and getting hurt on the first day? I'm lucky they didn't send me back to the dorms._ I went from angry to sad in less than a second, feeling tears well up in the corner of my eyes. _No. I can't do this. I-I know I'm sensitive to things like this, but…crying is the last thing I want to do. Sherlock will know right away and all that'll do is disappoint him…Though, it seems I already did that._ I wiped my eyes before the tears fell and instead tried to distract myself. Unfortunately, the first thing I thought of was who I bumped into on the way to the job I was looking at.

 _I had just left the small café where I had been hired as a waiter—the boss being really nice about calling me a 'waiter' and not a 'waitress' since the friendly elder woman claimed I was more handsome than her own son, which was odd, to say the least—and not half a block later, I spotted the familiar black tinted windows of Mycroft's car and decided that I didn't really want to run around today, instead, just sending Sherlock a quick text about being quote-on-quote 'kidnapped'. What I didn't appreciate though, was the two guys who suddenly came out of nowhere, grabbing my arm tightly and basically dragging me to the awaiting vehicle._

" _Hey! What the hell?! Let me go!"_

 _They didn't say a word, just shoved me into the car where someone shoved a black bag over my head and began restraining me. Now, I knew it was Mycroft's men—thanks to their fancy coats and shoes—but that didn't mean I wasn't a little freaked out about this whole execution style kidnapping._ I can't be _that_ dangerous! _After a while of driving and internal panicking (on my part), the car finally pulled to a stop and one of the men roughly grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the car, leading me somewhere and shoving me into a hard metal chair before ripping the bag off my head and unbinding my wrists._

 _I had apparently been driven to a similar looking warehouse as John had and Mycroft stood not far away, leaning on his familiar umbrella. Immediately, I frowned, not pleased with how I had been brought here and deciding that I wasn't going to be polite like I was planning on being, now that Mycroft had gone and treated me like a criminal._

" _Apologies for bringing you here like this, Miss Foxe, but surely you can understand after our previous attempts were thwarted due to your skills at parkour."_

 _He smiled in a sickening sweet manner as though that apology would make up for everything and I stood up abruptly with a snarl._

" _Well sorry for acting like a normal person who feels threatened, you pompous arse!"_

 _His men grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back down into the chair as Mycroft blinked in surprise._

" _My sources told me you were more soft-spoken. Seems you're more_ fiery _than you first appeared." He mused, pulling out a little notebook and writing something down._

 _I scoffed, leaning back in my seat and folding my arms over my chest, crossing my legs with my ankle resting on my knee. "Sherlock said the same thing, but he was more amused by it than you."_

" _Yes, well…My brother and I think differently on many such aspects." He smiled, pocketing the little book. "Now then, how about we get down to business? Hm? My little brother has taken quite an interest in you, Miss Foxe. Now why do you think that is?"_

" _It's Sam." I complained. "And maybe he just liked that I can help him with cases."_

" _But he has John, why take on another liability?"_

 _I felt my lip twitch up in a snarl. "John is_ not _a liability and neither am I."_

 _He raised a brow, gesturing to my ankle with his umbrella. "Yet here you are, injured, and you've only been with him a day."_

 _I flinched, knowing that what he said was true, but that didn't make it hurt any less._

" _What do you care?" I growled. "You're just some government official who's too afraid of his own brother to apologize for something that happened ages ago."_

 _His face immediately contorted into a frown and I quickly realized the mistake I made._

" _Who told you that?"_

 _Swallowing thickly, but keeping up my frustrated expression, I played it off. "It's not hard to figure out. What kind of brother would pay someone else to spy on their sibling when they are perfectly capable of doing so themselves?"_

 _His eyes narrowed, no doubt suspicious of me, but he seemed to drop it for the moment… or so I thought._

" _You have a few brothers of your own, yes?"_

"… _Yeah, and?"_

" _I hope my relationship with my brother won't get out to any unwanted ears." He said calmly. "I'd hate for anything to go wrong with your elder brother's new promotion at the firm."_

" _You're…threatening me…" I muttered, feeling my chest tighten in anger and worry for my brothers, fists clenching at my sides as I stood. "I don't take kindly to threats, Mycroft."_

" _Then we have an understanding." He mused, leaning on his umbrella with a smirk once more. "Do take good care of my brother in my absence."_

 _I curled my lips up in a snarl. "Go to hell." I spat, before leaving, giving one of his lackeys a good shove before I got in the waiting car and discovered that I would be meeting with Sherlock at Scotland Yard._

Even now, I was still frustrated with the way Mycroft acted about everything and huffed as I leaned back into the couch. My hand touched my arm where his lackey had grabbed me and I winced, already knowing that he had left a nice hand shaped bruise there, something Sherlock didn't notice because I was wearing my hoodie and he hadn't touched it; probably the only thing that would cause me to show that it hurt. I threw the thought from my mind though and instead laid back on the couch, to sleep since I hadn't had a chance to last night and the exhaustion was finally hitting me. _And if I'm lucky, I won't have a nightmare…_

I woke up briefly when Sherlock returned without John, but slipped back to sleep before he even noticed I was awake. When I actually woke up, feeling a lot more refreshed, it was when John had returned, shouting about the summons he was going to have to go to, thanks to some guy and Sherlock ditching him with a bag full of spray paint. _What was that guy's name? Raz? Maybe it was something else…Rat? Rab? Rak?_ I heard a chuckle and opened my eyes to find John laughing at me and Sherlock giving me an amused look.

"What?" I grumbled, not fully awake yet.

"It seems you salivate in your sleep too."

My eyes widened and I wiped my mouth to find a bit of drool, feeling my face heat up in embarrassment, before John came over, still chuckling.

"It's okay, Sam! No need to be too embarrassed."

I frowned. "Says you. Don't you have something to go do?"

"Huh? Not that I know of."

He raised a brow, when Sherlock came over, grabbing his coat as he began pulling it off his shoulders, and putting it back on.

"No, Sam's right. I need you to go down to the police station."

"Oi, oi, oi!"

Sherlock blew right over his complaints, shoving him out the door. "Ask about the journalist. His personal effects will have been impounded. Get a hold of his diary or something that will tell us his movements."

Sherlock too grabbed his coat, but stopped and turned to me. "Are you coming, Sam?"

My eyes widened and I practically jumped up from the couch, hurrying after them, though limping slightly. We headed out and Sherlock put on some gloves while speaking.

"Going to go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide. Sam, you're with me."

I nodded, going to follow after him when I noticed a Chinese woman with dark sunglasses across the street. Quickly, I tapped John's shoulder.

"Hey, John? Sherlock wants me to get his card back for him and is that alright?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure. Here ya go."

He pulled out his wallet as he hailed a cab, and I took it from him, grabbing the card and sneaking out the check Sebastian had given him as well, before handing his wallet back with a smile.

"Thanks."

"Sam!"

I turned to see Sherlock frowning at me and hurried off to catch up, wincing every once in a while when I put too much weight on my ankle. Sherlock and I soon hailed our own cab and we headed off to the bank where we met with Van Coon's personal assistant.

"Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team." She told us, checking her computer screen.

"Can you print me up a copy?"

She glanced at him before turning back to the screen. "Sure."

"What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?"

"Sorry. A bit of a gap." Wanting to make it up to us, it seemed, she continued. "I have all his receipts."

I noticed a bottle of hand cream on her desk and took a chance to alert Sherlock, elbowing him and nodding to it.

"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?" He asked, upon spotting it.

"Um, no. That's not a word I'd use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag."

"Like that hand cream. _He_ bought that for you, didn't he?"

I watched as Sherlock sat in her seat to look over the receipts and I eyed the hairpin she was fiddling with. _Could save us a lot of trouble if I just took care of that for her…but then there'd be so many things that would change…_ I threw away the thought and waited for Sherlock to sort through the receipts.

"Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."

"That would get him to the office." She said.

"Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as …"

"The West End. I remember him saying."

Sherlock picked up another one, handing it to the P.A. "Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."

"So he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?" She questioned.

"Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator."

"Delivering?" She looked confused, eyeing me to which I just shrugged.

 _If there's one thing I know for certain, it's that I couldn't tell you how far one can get on a certain amount of cab fare…I'm not a cab person. I usually walk or bike where I need to go. So…I guess I'm not any help here._

"To somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Dropped the package, delivered it and then…" Sherlock stopped, picking up a receipt and standing. "…stopped on his way. He got peckish…Come along, Sam!"

I thanked the woman for her help as he dashed off and I hurried after him, just barely climbing into the cab he'd called as it headed towards the West End.

"You don't know cab fares." He mused, not even looking at me.

"Well, yeah." I grumbled. "I may live in New York, but that doesn't mean I take a cab. My salary doesn't give me the chance. They're too expensive, so I usually bike or walk to wherever I need to go."

"Hm."

The rest of the ride was silent and when we showed up at the West End, we climbed out and began walking to the café where Van Coon had eaten, Sherlock twisting and turning to get a good look at everything.

"So you bought your lunch from here in route to the station, but where were you headed from?"

"Ah, Sherlock!"

He ignored me. "Where did the taxi drop you—Ugh."

Turning around to apologize, he spotted John and turned to me.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I did!" I said, tossing my hands up.

He rolled his eyes and turned back around to John. "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died; whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information."

"Sherlock…"

"Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."

"Sherlock!" I called out, but he ignored me too.

"Somewhere in this street. Somewhere near. I don't know where, but—"

As Sherlock turned around, John pointed across the street. " _That_ shop. Over there."

Sherlock turned back, looking almost jealous that John had figured something out before he did.

"How did you know?"

"Lukis's diary." John held up the small booklet he had. "He was here too. He wrote down the address."

John hurried off and Sherlock stood there for a moment.

"Oh." He turned away then as I rolled my eyes.

We went ahead and entered the shop, Sherlock pausing briefly to look at the objects in the window, where a nice lady offered us a lucky cat.

"You want lucky cat?"

"Nope. Thanks. No." John said, turning back to the tea set in front of him as I headed over.

"Ten pound. Ten pound!"

"I'll take it." I said, pulling out ten pounds from my own wallet.

The lady smiled. "You want bag?"

I nodded. "Sure."

She went ahead and packed it up, handing it to me as she took my money, and I held onto it as John picked up a white and blue tea cup, checking the bottom.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock headed over as I did, looking with him.

"The label there."

"Yes, I see it."

"Exactly the same as the cipher." John cleared his throat, before we hurried out and began walking along the street where various street vendors had their goods out to sell.

"It's an ancient number system. Hangzhou. These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and the library." Sherlock went over to a stand and picked up a vegetable. "Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."

"It's a fifteen." John said, checking the vegetable prices too. "What we thought was the artist's tag…It's a number fifteen."

"And the blindfold, the horizontal line, that was a number as well."

"The number one." I said, trying to keep quiet, but Sherlock heard me.

"How did you know that?"

I flinched, but quickly found my excuse. "I, uh, had a teacher who went over the Chinese number system once. Only went from one to ten, but I thought the tag was a blindfold too."

He sighed and we started to head off once more, but I spotted the same Chinese woman from before taking a photo with her phone, just before she disappeared into the crowd. Because John was next to me, I couldn't tell if she was photographing him or myself, but hopefully, I could get John out of getting kidnapped. _Though I'm still a bit freaked out about it, but…I can try and be brave…I guess…_ My stomach growled then, catching Sherlock and John's attention, to which Sherlock brought us over to the café across from the Lucky Cat.

"Can't have Lestrade finding out I starved my college assistant."

I stuck out my tongue, childishly, and ordered some food as John spoke.

"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?"

Sherlock put away the notepad he had been writing on before answering. "It's not what they saw. It's what they both brought back in those suitcases."

"And you don't mean duty free."

The waitress came by then and I greedily chowed down on my noodles, as John thanked her and Sherlock kept the conversation going.

"Think about what Sebastian told us. About Van Coon. About how he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million …"

"... made it back in a week."

"Mmm." John hummed, eating his food.

"He smuggled." I piped in, eating another forkful and easily talking around my food in my mouth. "Not that odd, coming from China and not hard for them, being people who traveled there frequently. Wouldn't be too hard, if you ask me."

Sherlock nodded as John hummed, eating his food happily. _I'm guessing he hasn't eaten a decent meal in a while then._

"A business man and a journalist writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off."

"But why did they die?" John breathed out. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?"

"They took something." I said, drinking from my cup of water, apparently catching Sherlock off guard. "Ah, but that's just pure speculation…"

"No. It's exactly right." He said, eyeing me.

"And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right." John said, Sherlock turning to look out the café window as I hurriedly shoveled my food in my mouth, knowing that we were going to be off again.

"Remind me…" Sherlock said. "When was the last time that it rained?"

He practically jumped out of his seat and hurried out of the café, leaving John and I to follow after him, but I had a big decision to make. _I can either help Sherlock by keeping him from being strangled, or I can stay outside with John and continue to play the 'I'm Sherlock' card to keep him from being kidnapped. I really want to help Sherlock, but…_ I bit my bottom lip, before sighing quietly and giving in. _Sorry, Sherlock. John comes first in this case._ Sherlock bent over and flicked a finger over the edge of the yellow pages book sitting in front of Soo Lin Yao's door.

"It's been here since Monday." He said, straightening up and pressing on the doorbell.

No one answered and he looked around, catching sight of the alleyway off to the right and walking down it, John and I following.

"No one's been in that flat for at least three days."

"Could've gone on holiday." John mused.

"Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock questioned, before jumping up and pulling down the fire escape ladder and climbing up before John or I managed to follow him.

"Sherlock!" John hissed, running towards the front door with me behind him.

Once there, we stood outside, unable to hear Sherlock talking about the vase being knocked over, and John rang the doorbell.

"Do you think maybe you could let me in this time?"

We received no answer and John leaned down and opened the letterbox.

"Can you _not_ keep doing this, please?"

We heard him saying something, but the noise from the street was too loud.

"What?" I called out, leaning over and taking John's place in front of the letterbox.

He said something more, but we still couldn't hear him and I leaned back, shrugging to John, who bent over to speak once more.

"What are you saying?"

There were a few more mumbles, but John stood back up in frustration. "I'm wasting my breath."

He pushed the doorbell again, but nothing, so I took over at yelling at Sherlock in order to keep John from getting into trouble with the Black Lotus.

"Anytime you want to include us!" I called out, swallowing thickly, knowing that at this moment, right now, Sherlock was being strangled.

I stood back upright and began mocking him, just as John would have done.

"No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my _massive intellect_!" I shouted, having leaned back down to the letterbox.

"Oh, you think so too?" John asked me with a small smile, before going over and ringing the doorbell angrily.

He then checked his watch and we waited, none to patiently until the door finally opened and Sherlock stood there, looking a bit pale and speaking with a hoarse voice.

"The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."

"Somebody?" John questioned.

Sherlock nodded. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her."

He bent down to pick up a note off the floor as John continued to question him.

"But how, exactly?"

"We could start with this."

We all started walking and I eyed Sherlock nervously, eyes searching for the bruising I know must be on his neck.

"You've gone all croaky." John said. "Are you getting a cold?"

Sherlock coughed a bit. "I'm fine."

We took a cab over to the National Antiquities Museum and Sherlock soon turned to me with a frustrated look on his face.

"What?"

I realized that I had been staring at him for some time now and shook my head, looking away.

"Nothing…It's just, uh…Are you alright?"

He raised a brow at my concern and looked away. "As I told John, I'm fine."

I nodded solemnly and stayed silent the rest of the ride before we headed into the museum and Sherlock and John began asking questions to the people who work there. I didn't really have anything I could do and my eyes wandered off to where a group of students were checking out a few museum pieces. Oddly enough, I recognized them and a frown slowly formed on my face which caught John's attention.

"Something wrong, Sam?"

I turned to him and shook my head. "No. Nothing's wr—"

"Sam!"

I cringed, recognizing the voice of the absolute _last_ person I wanted to run into, and nearly falling over as said person practically tackled me from behind with an arm over my shoulders.

"Sam! I can't believe we met up like this! The professor told me what happened and it's super cool how you get to go off and hang out with a detective instead of attending these boring lectures we have to go to."

I straightened up with a scowl, glaring at Bobbie and pushing him away from me.

"That's nice, Bobbie." I grumbled. "Shouldn't you be with our class?"

He smiled, slinging his arm back over my shoulders as if I hadn't just shoved him off.

"Nope! The professor just gave us our break. We're free for the next fifteen minutes!"

"Great." I said, sarcastically, something Bobbie didn't understand.

"I know, right?! Now what have you been up to? Catching criminals?! Exposing spies?! Destroying terrorist plots?!"

I groaned before turning my glare over to John, who was chuckling at my predicament.

"Friend of yours?"

"No."/"You bet!" Bobbie and I said at the same time.

I glared at Bobbie, but he was oblivious to it and instead stuck his hand out.

"I'm Bobbie Reiss. Nice to meet you!"

"John Watson." John replied, shaking his hand with a smile just as Sherlock came over.

"Are you two coming?"

"Yes!" I called out, peeling Bobbie's arm off me once more as John laughed.

"Bye Sam!" Bobbie called out as I picked up my pace.

On our way down to the archives, John continued to chuckle whereas I continued to scowl.

"Shut up." I growled.

"You've got to admit, it _was_ a bit funny."

"No, it _wasn't_."

"You guys must have known each other a long time."

I looked up at him in shock. "We've known each other for a day at most! He asked me for a piece of gum and _apparently_ that means we're best friends!" I grabbed John's sleeve, pulling him closer and growling. " _He won't leave me alone_."

John continued to laugh. "It can't be that bad."

I let him go and frowned. "It's like pairing up Sherlock with a peppy teenage girl."

John winced. "I guess you have a point…"

I scoffed and moved up a bit to walk beside Sherlock. _Yeah, like pairing up Sherlock with a fan girl…_ I glanced up at the stoic detective, before looking back down. _Like that'll ever happen…_ I mentally sighed and watched silently as Andy turned on the lights and led us into the basement archive.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists. A-A tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here."

He moved over and began turning a crank on one of the doors, but I spotted Sherlock wandering off the other way and followed him, before looking upon the statue that now had bright yellow spray paint on it, warning Soo Lin Yao of her eminent danger.

"Uh, John?"

John looked over and stared back with a serious expression, getting the same hint as I did. _She's been targeted as well…though I already knew that. Thing is, should I try and save her too?_ We left the museum and begin walking down the steps, John buttoning up his coat.

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao."

"If she's still alive."

"She is." I said, confidently, catching a few looks from the two of them, when Raz suddenly ran up out of nowhere.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, look who it is." John said, none too pleased.

"Found something you'll like." Raz replied, ignoring John.

He headed off down the stairs and we followed him, taking a long walk across Hungerford Bridge, a train passing by not far away. John though, wasn't into the scenery at the moment like I was. He was a bit too busy trying to talk to Raz and get out of his ASBO.

"Tuesday morning. All you've got to do is turn up and say the bag was yours."

"Forget about your court date." Sherlock complained.

I though, wasn't real listening, instead catching eyes with the Chinese woman, just before she disappeared again. _She gives me chills._ After some more walking, we ended up in a skate park and I watched in awe as a couple of guys did tricks on their bikes and skateboards.

"Oh man. A downside tailwhip? So cool."

Raz turned my way. "You bike?"

I nodded. "Used to. Skateboarding was more my thing. I could do a _mean_ mctwist."

Raz let out a long whistle. "Nice."

I scratched the back of my head nervously. "The other guys I hung out with could do better."

Sherlock cleared his throat suddenly and I chuckled awkwardly.

"Right. Sorry."

He rolled his eyes, taking the steps quickly. "If you wanna hide a tree in the middle of a forest, this is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

"There." Raz said, pointing at a wall full of graffiti. "I spotted it earlier."

"They _have_ been in here. And that's _exactly_ the same paint?" Sherlock asked Raz.

"Looks like it." I mused, wiping a finger over it. _It's not wet, but it hasn't been here long._

"John, if we're going to decipher this code, we're going to need to look for more evidence."

He handed him and I a flashlight, to which we stared at them in question, until Sherlock waved his hands about. "Well, go on! Get looking!"

We headed off and began searching, each of us going our separate ways. John went off towards the train tracks and Sherlock off towards the warehouses nearby, whereas I checked the graffiti on the walls where the bikers were hanging out at. I wasn't finding much and even asked a few of the skaters, who were more than willing to tell me a few things after I pulled a few tricks for them. They pointed out a couple of other tags that were the same yellow paint, but most of them were too covered up to be useful. I took photos of them with my phone anyway, just before John and Sherlock rounded the corner and hurried towards me.

"You find something?" I asked, and John nodded.

"Sure did. Come on. I'll show you."

I waved to the skaters who waved and hollered back—earning me looks from John and Sherlock—and followed the two as they headed to a wall facing the train tracks. I looked at the wall to find it completely blacked out and tilted my head, hearing John panic as I moved forward and touched it, earning a couple of black finger tips.

"I don't understand. I-It was…here…Ten minutes ago, I saw it. A whole lot of graffiti."

"It's been painted over." I said, showing them my fingers. "The paint's fresh."

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it." Sherlock said, before suddenly rushing over to John and taking his face in his hands.

I blinked, bad fantasies popping up in my head before I quickly shooed them away. _Nope. No, Johnlock tonight. Nu-uh._

"Hey, S-Sherlock, what are you doing?" John questioned, eyes shut for a moment.

"Shh!" Sherlock hushed, loudly. "John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."

"No, what? Why? Why? What are you doing?" John questioned as Sherlock brought his hands down to his shoulder and began spinning him in a circle.

"I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah…"

"Can you remember it?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Can you remember the pattern?"

"Yes!"

"How much can you remember it?"

"Well, don't worry—"

"Because the _average_ human memory on visual matters is only 62% accurate." Sherlock spouted.

"Yeah, well, don't worry. I remember all of it."

Sherlock stared back in disbelief. "Really?"

"Or at least I _would_ if I could get to my pocket!" John shouted, pulling away from Sherlock and taking out his phone, pausing when they both heard a distinct 'click' followed by a flash.

Sherlock and John turned to me.

"Did you just…take a photograph?"

I lowered my phone a bit, looking at them innocently. "…No."

I then pulled my phone back and snuck it into my pocket, not saying another word. _Actually, that was the fourth photo…the first three were while they were holding each other, but let's not mention that._ John finally got back to the task at hand and pulled out his phone, searching through the photographs.

"I took a photograph." He said, showing Sherlock the screen as I headed over to look as well.

There was a bit of awkward silence, before Sherlock started walking back towards the main road and John and I dutifully followed, getting into the cab he hailed back to Baker Street. Once there, I looked over at John, as he yawned.

"You should get some sleep, John." I said.

He glanced at me. "So should you. You were up all last night, weren't you?"

"I'll be fine, but you have work the day after tomorrow."

"What about _your_ job?"

I blinked. "What about it?"

He sighed. "I can't have you getting in trouble your first day of work."

"And you shouldn't be sleeping during _your_ work." I said, folding my arms. "I'll be fine, John. I could probably get some sleep tomorrow and if you go now, I'll see what I can do about keeping him quiet the whole night."

John raised a brow, before rolling his eyes. " _Fine_. Just try to get _some_ sleep while he's off in his mind palace or something."

I shrugged, hands up. "Okay."

He headed to his room and I moved to sit on the couch, just in time for Sherlock to toss me a book and a handful of papers.

"Translate those." He ordered, skimming his own book and writing something down on his papers.

"Yes, sir." I muttered, getting to work on translating half of the code that had been spray painted on the wall John had found. _It's going to be a long night…_


	4. Chapter 4

"Always in pairs, John."

My head fell forward out of my hand and I jolted awake, blinking wearily.

"My name's not John…" I muttered with a yawn. "John's still sleeping."

"Numbers come with partners." Sherlock continued, probably not even hearing me. "Why did he paint it so near the tracks?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" I grumbled, resting my chin in my palm once more.

"Dozens of people pass by there every day."

"Mm." I moaned, standing up and stretching. "I better go wake up John."

"Of course…" Sherlock muttered, not answering me, but realizing something. "Of _course_! He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back." He pointed to the photograph in front of him as I just peeked at him dully from around the corner. "It's somewhere here in the code."

"Too bad you're not paying attention, or else you'd be listening when I told you it was a book code."

"We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao." Sherlock said, pulling a few photographs off the wall, before turning to me. "What are you doing? Go wake up John."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

I wandered over to John's door and knocked, but upon receiving no answer reached for the door knob and opened the door with a sigh, scratching the back of my head as I closed my eyes.

"John, Sherlock wants us to go find Soo Lin Yao. So you need to get u—"

A quiet snore interrupted what I was going to say and I looked up to see John lying on his stomach, an arm hanging off the side of the bed completely passed out. _He looks comfy…_ I mused. _I almost don't want to wake him…_

"Sam! Time is of the essence!" A shout wailed from downstairs and I groaned, before moving over to John and shaking his shoulder.

"John, you really need to get up."

He groaned and rolled over. "Twenty more minutes."

"I don't think Sherlock is going to like that." I said, shaking him again. "John, we have to go find Soo Lin Yao. Sherlock says it's important to figuring out the code."

"Ugh…Then make _him_ go find her." He complained.

"I'd love to, but—"

"Sam!"

I cringed at Sherlock's shout and shook John some more. "But it seems he's very adamant about us going… _now_."

"Alright, alright. I'm going." John finally said, giving in and getting up with a yawn. "I'll meet up with you guys downstairs."

I nodded and made sure to put on my jacket before heading down the stairs where Sherlock was waiting.

"Finally. Where's John?"

"Coming." I yawned, covering my mouth as Sherlock stared down at me with raised brows.

"Why weren't _you_ sleeping?"

I gave him a disbelieving look. "I was helping you translate those numbers last night and then you were talking about the case. Was I _supposed_ to be sleeping?"

He blinked down at me before looking back at the front door impatiently. "No."

I scoffed out of my nose, wishing I had time for a smoke, before John hurried down the stairs and pulled on his coat.

"Sorry about that!"

Sherlock let out a 'humph' and opened the door with a roll of his eyes, heading out and easily calling a cab back to the National Antiquities Museum. _And if I'm lucky, Bobby won't be there this time._ I yawned again as we finally pulled to a stop and got out of the cab, earning a look from John.

"Did you get any sleep?"

I shook my head. "No, but I'll be alright. I had some of Sherlock's black coffee for…uh, what was it?"

John chuckled. "I, uh, think it was lunch."

"Yeah, that." I muttered, waving my hand lazily as we approached Andy.

"Two men traveled back from China were murdered and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals." Sherlock said, rather frustrated.

"Soo Lin Yao's in danger. Now, that cipher…It was the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."

Andy looked back at us fearfully. "Look, I've tried everywhere. Um, friends, colleagues. I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away."

While they were doing that, I was over by the teapots and called Sherlock over, pointing at one of them.

"Hey, Sherlock. Wasn't there only one of these shining yesterday?"

They all glanced my way and headed over as Sherlock began to smirk.

"Tell me more about those teapots."

"T-The pots were her obsession." Andy replied, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Um, they need urgent work. I-If they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to just keep making tea in them."

"She's been here then." Sherlock said, bending to look at the pots a bit closer. "Which means she's been hiding nearby. Good catch, Sam."

"R-Right." I said quietly, feeling a bit bad about taking credit for the discovery.

 _It's not like I actually worked hard to find it. Sherlock would've found it and I probably would've missed it if I didn't know about it before hand…_ I sighed and wandered off a bit as Sherlock and John spoke more to Andy. Some of the museum pieces were pretty interesting. The skulls, for one thing, were in amazing condition and I could figure out a few things about them, though the facts probably weren't very accurate. After a while though, I pulled my headphones on—the noise of other people starting to bother me—and began thinking about what I was going to do about Soo Lin Yao. _I suppose I could try to save her. I don't know if I'd be much of a match for her brother, but…nobody_ wants _to die. She probably doesn't either and, as scared as I am about fighting him, I don't…I don't want someone to die in front of me if I can do something to try and stop it._ I stared back at the painting in front of me, of a couple of boxers fighting it out in a ring.

"George Bellows, _A Stag at Sharkey's._ " I read off the plate below it, looking back up at it before sighing and heading back to where Sherlock and John were probably waiting, a majority of the crowd having headed off due to the announcement of the museum closing that I barely heard over the music in my headphones.

"Sam! Don't wander off!" John scolded when I returned, removing my headphones as the guards walked by to lock the place up.

I frowned. "I'm not five, John."

He sighed. "Yeah, well…with a killer out, you never know _what_ could happen. I'm just worried, is all."

I felt bad about getting angry and nodded, stuffing my hands into my pockets and glancing over at Sherlock.

"Does he have a plan or something?"

John saw who I was looking at and nodded. "Seems like it, though it sounds like we're just going to sit around and wait for her to come to us."

"It's as good a plan as any." I said with a shrug. "She cares about the pots, so she'll probably come."

"Yeah, let's hope so."

My stomach growled then and John smiled a bit. "Hungry?"

"Just a bit." I said, rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment. "Lunch wasn't anything more the coffee…"

John raised a brow, before shaking his head. "I won't ask."

I nodded just as Sherlock headed over with a big grin on his face.

"Places. The lights are going out."

I groaned, but moved over beside Sherlock and John as most of the museum lights were turned off. It took a while and I was starting to get sleepy, but eventually we heard the creaking of metal of a grate nearby and a thin woman moved over to the teapots and removed one; beginning the process of making tea in the pots at a table. Sherlock moved beside me and I just watched as he frightened her.

"Fancy a biscuit with tha—"

He was forced to cut himself off as Soo Lin Yao gasped in fright and dropped the teapot in her hand, him catching it.

"Centuries old." Sherlock said, just loud enough for me to hear. "Don't want to break that."

As he stood upright and passed the teapot back to her, John and I stood and headed over as well, sitting in a couple of chairs.

"Hello." He said, making me roll my eyes as Soo Lin Yao spoke.

"You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me."

She gave me a curious look, but I just fidgeted nervously and looked around the darkened room.

"You've been clever to avoid him so far." Sherlock replied.

"I had to finish…to finish this work…It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

"Who is he?" Sherlock asked. "Have you met him before?"

Soo Lin Yao nodded. "When I was a girl, living back in China…I recognize his… signature."

"The cipher."

She paused, obviously troubled by what she was telling us. "Only _he_ would do this. Zhi Zhu."

"Zhi Zhu?"

"It, uh…means 'spider' in Chinese." I said, catching their attention as Soo Lin Yao nodded and began taking off her shoe to reveal to us the lotus tattoo on her heel.

"You know this mark?"

"Yes." Sherlock said, before he could continue though, I spoke.

"It's a black lotus flower. Like the origami we found with the victims."

Sherlock glared at me for interrupting, and I frowned, bowing my head and staying quiet.

"It's the mark of a Tong."

"Hm?" John questioned.

"Ancient crime syndicate based in China."

John nodded in understanding and as Soo Lin Yao began speaking, I kind of zoned out, checking for changes in the surrounding lighting for an indication of Zhi Zhu. It wasn't so much that I didn't care about what Soo Lin Yao was saying, but I had heard it so many times, I could practically recite it back to her; proving just how many times I'd re-watched _Sherlock_ in my spare time. It was then that I noticed a shadow move quickly over by where the main light switches were and I decided to alert Sherlock.

"Um, Sherlock?"

"Not now, Sam."

Just then, the lights went out and I crossed my arms over my chest with a frown, though I doubted he could even see me.

"I was going to tell you I saw a shadow move by the main light switch."

I could practically feel him glaring at me and I childishly stuck out my tongue as Soo Lin Yao panicked.

"He's here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me."

Sherlock suddenly took off towards where I said I saw the shadow and John immediately began complaining.

"Oh no…Sherlock. Sherlock! Wait!"

Seeing that he wasn't returning, he grabbed Soo Lin Yao and I and began pulling us along.

"Come here. Get in. Get in!"

We were soon seated on the floor over by a desk as gun shots went off. John looked over to where they were coming from and I fidgeted as the adrenaline started to pump quickly through my veins. _Come on, Sam. Keep it cool. Don't get too strung up or you'll end up getting hurt later._ John turned to the two of us then, speaking quietly.

"I have to go and help. Sam, bolt the door after me and keep an eye on her."

I nodded, mentally glad that he was finally talking to me like an adult, and watched as he hurried off towards the gunshots, leaving Soo Lin Yao and I alone. The gunshots continued and I swallowed thickly, knowing that Zhi Zhu would be here soon, and Soo Lin Yao seemed to sense this as well.

"You."

I glanced at her, not sure what she would possibly say in a moment like this. "Y-Yeah?"

"You should go help them. They're your friends, correct?"

I nodded, but felt confidence swell in my chest for a moment as my shaking decided to subside for a moment. "I would, but I can't leave you."

She shook her head. "I am fine. They are the ones in danger now."

I turned to her with a frown, already frustrated with the woman and how quickly she was accepting her fate.

"No. _You're_ the one in danger and why you're accepting your death so soon is beyond me."

She looked at me sorrowfully. "I have no chance against my brother. If he does not kill me now, then he will do so at a later time."

"And you're just going to accept that?!" I hissed out in a loud whisper, unable to control my emotions any longer. "Nobody wants to die! And you may be willing to convince yourself that you are, but the fact is that no one _ever_ wants to die. You hiding yourself for this long is proof! And don't say that just because he is your brother you can't fight him, because that's what siblings do. They fight each other! And if he's coming to kill you, then what kind of brother is he?! Stop accepting things the way they are and do something about it!" I half-shouted, turning away from her while trying to keep from knocking some sense into her.

"You…You're right." She whispered, making me turn to her as quiet tears fell from her face and hit the ground softly. "I-I don't want to die, but there's nothing I can do—"

I quickly grabbed the front of her shirt angrily, very near yelling in her face. "There _is_ something you can do! You can do this! You can hide like you have been! _Live!_ I'll make sure your brother is taken care of! And if I can't, then Sherlock will! But you can't just give up like this!"

She slowly nodded and I calmed myself down, releasing her shirt, when I suddenly realized something. _The gunshots…they've stopped._ Soo Lin Yao went to move, but I held a hand out, telling her to stay there. I shifted, hearing some papers fluttering about on the desk and had the frame of mind to grab the page we needed translated and pass it to her, before peaking out from behind the desk to look for Zhi Zhu. _If he wants Soo Lin Yao, then I have to get further away from her._ Feeling my limbs suddenly fill with lead, I swallowed and cautiously moved away from the desk, making sure to check for any moving shadows or shifts in the sounds around me.

Hearing the sudden intake of breath behind me from Soo Lin Yao, I was quick enough to bring my arms up to block the strap of cloth that was about to wrap around my neck and I ducked down, swinging my leg back in an arc and knocking Zhi Zhu off his feet. I didn't stop there, knowing that if I did, he would easily be able to take me out, and I quickly threw the cloth out of reach and tackled him to the ground the moment he started to sit back up. He hit me pretty hard in the side of the head, making my head ring from the sudden impact, but I got in a few shots myself before he kicked me in the stomach and knocked me off him. _Damn, I wish I had a weapon on me!_ I mentally thought as I got up and ran after him as he went to get his cloth once more.

I dove across the floor and managed to grab a hold of his legs, but he didn't fall this time and I was kicked roughly in the side before I dodged some more kicks and got back up onto my feet. He went to punch me, forgetting about the cloth for now, but I grabbed his arm and brought my leg back, throwing him over my shoulder. That threw me off balance, but I rolled and got back onto my feet, only for him to kick me hard just above my knee, very nearly breaking my leg should I have not spotted the move and taken half a step back as it hit. It still caused a hell of a lot of pain and I fell backwards with a muffled shout, just in time for him to jump up and tackle me to the ground, using his bare hands to try and strangle me.

I choked, trying to get his hands off me, but he was strong and even as I tried to use some judo moves to get out from under him, he figured out what I was doing and pinned me down more efficiently. I began to see dark spots in my vision and, gathering up all my energy, I swung a fist haphazardly towards his face, somehow managing to catch him off guard and surprise him enough to kick him off me as I rolled onto my side to return the much needed air into my lungs. I spotted him trying to head over to where Soo Lin Yao was and grabbed his ankle, doing my best to stall him long enough for John or Sherlock to get here—both of whom were taking far too long for my liking—but doing so made him turn his attention back to me and he kicked me again in the side. I grimaced and barely kept from crying out, but held on still as he continued to claw at my hand and kick me, dragging me closer to where Soo Lin Yao was.

"R-R-Run!" I croaked out, desperately trying to get her out of danger, but she just looked between the two of us and I could tell what she was trying to do. "D-Don't! I'll be fine! G-Go!"

Zhi Zhu slammed a powerful foot into my chest, knocking the air out of me and grinding his heel in just below my sternum, finally enticing a small cry of pain from me.

"No! Stop!"

The pressure of his foot on my chest lifted and I struggled to keep my grip on his ankle as he went over to Soo Lin Yao, before he finally kicked me good and hard in the face and knocked me aside. _N-No…I have to stop him._ I tried to get up, but my body was already telling me to stop as the blows he had previously inflicted sent rivets of pain throughout my body. _I have to…If I can't change this…how can I stop anything else?_ I dragged myself slowly towards them, inch by inch, but the moment she placed her hand on his face and he started pulling out his gun, I knew it was too late.

"Don't! Please!" I called out weakly, but the final gunshot rang out and I watched as Soo Lin Yao fell onto the table with a black lotus flower lying limply in her hand. "N-No…No…"

Zhi Zhu easily fled the scene out the open window and not a minute later, I heard the door click open as I clenched my eyes shut tightly and fisted my hands, still lying on the ground in pain.

"D-Dammit…" I muttered quietly. "God dammit."

"Sam? Sam, are you alright?! Sam, I—" John cut himself off, having knelt down beside me and caught sight of Soo Lin Yao's body lying on the table.

"I'm sorry, J-J-John." I said, pausing to cough and lay my forehead on the cool marble flooring. "I tried, I-I really did."

Sherlock hurried in then. "Did you catch him? Zhi Zhu?"

"Sherlock…" John scolded and Sherlock went quiet, as I slammed my fist into the tiling.

"God dammit! He was right there! I had him! I-I could've saved her!" I shouted, before immediately going into a coughing fit as John helped me sit up and tried to calm me down.

"Sam! Sam! It's okay! Everything's al—"

"No it's not, John!" I said, pushing him off me in my frustration. "She's dead! She's dead and I—Ngh!"

I doubled over as pain shot up my side and John quickly went into action, telling Sherlock to call an ambulance but I—just as quickly—refused.

"No. It's just bruises. W-We need to—" I grimaced as I tried to stand, very nearly collapsing to the ground as my injured leg gave out from under me, though John caught me just in time. "We need t-to tell the police. T-T-Take down the gang and—"

"Absolutely not!" John scolded, having to practically carry me over to where Sherlock was standing silently, John making me sit in a chair. "We don't know what happened between you and this spider guy, but you're obviously hurt! Bruises or not, you are _done_ for tonight!"

"You don't understand, John!" I retaliated, but I could already feel my strength beginning to slip away. "You don't understand, I need to—"

"You don't need to be a part of everything we do, Sam!" He shouted back, making me flinch in hurt. "You're _our_ responsibility! If you're hurt doing something stupid because we let you, _we're_ the ones getting in trouble! And how are you supposed to do anything if you're getting hurt like this! Grow up, Sam! Not everything is about getting revenge and having fun! Learn to care about yourself every once in a while!"

I felt tears threatening to make an appearance and struggled to swallow them down and keep them from making things worse, choosing to bow my head to hide my expression. _This is all my fault…Soo Lin Yao is dead because of me a-and…_ I bit my bottom lip, wincing upon feeling a fresh cut there. _Maybe John's right…I-I-I…I don't belong here with them…All I'm doing is causing them problems._ John sighed and moved to help me walk, I reluctantly going along with it and allowing him to help me outside as Sherlock grabbed us all a cab after having called the police to check out the crime scene. The cab ride was very tense and the tenseness only grew when he helped me upstairs to 221B, before him and Sherlock left again to go speak with Dimmock. _I'm so stupid._ I thought, finally allowing a few tears to fall, before I forced myself to get up and move towards the bathroom. _Maybe I'm just not cut out for this kind of thing…_

I climbed into the shower, choosing to take a bath this time so I wouldn't have to stand any longer than needed and grimaced as I stripped out of my clothes. Black and purple bruises littered my side and chest, a few here and there on my arms, legs, and face, and finger shaped ones on my throat. I went to speak, just seeing if I could, but immediately went into a coughing fit and even a glass of water seemed to be difficult to swallow. I lit a couple of relaxing incense sticks that were in the bathroom and settled into the tub in a vain attempt to relax. I grew more upset about everything that had happened, remembering Soo Lin Yao's body falling right in front of me and Zhi Zhu just getting away with everything, so I reached over and grabbed my iPod, turning it up and listening to Muse as I sat there and struggled to relax.

Needless to say, I could only stand being in the tub for so long for fear of breaking down, and when I got out and changed into pajamas, I limped my way back out into the living room and dug through my things until I found my cigarettes and lit one up, moving to the window to give the smoke a chance to leave the room. I smoked for a while, ignoring the soreness of my throat, before finally snuffing out the cigarette and wandering over to the couch where I laid down and tried to go to sleep, already knowing that everyone would be better off if I just went back to my class tomorrow morning. _After all, I don't belong here…and they're both probably fed up with me. It'd be better if I just left. I'm useless anyway._

* * *

Sherlock and John returned after informing Dimmock of what had happened and requesting the books of Van Coon and Lukis, hanging up their coats in relative silence. Almost immediately, they set their sights on Sam, who was sleeping on the couch, curled up rather childishly in a ball, the blankets on the floor beside her. John sighed and wandered over, covering her with the blankets, accidentally catching sight of her cut lip and the bruises on her neck and face, making him wince.

"Jesus, he really did a number on her. Sherlock, do you think—" John stopped, looking down at her and back at him. "Do you think I was too hard on her?"

Sherlock hung his coat up on the back of the door, turning to John with a raised brow.

"You believe you were too hard on her?"

John frowned, contemplating that as he took a seat in his chair. "Well, what she did was reckless and extremely dangerous. She went out of her way to confront some Chinese assassin and got hurt in the process! So, of course I would yell at her!…But…in a way, she was only trying to help."

Sherlock nodded. "Trying to save a life, at that. Though I do believe the better question is what would you do in her place?"

John let out a long sigh, leaning his head back against the chair. "Probably the same thing…But she's only 21, Sherlock!"

"And perfectly capable of making her own adult decisions, John." He complained, having had enough of this conversation. "She is at least semi-intelligent and knows what consequences she could face for her decisions and in a few vital seconds, chose to fight for the life of another at the risk of her own. I do believe your novels would call it something along the lines of 'heroic' or 'daring' though the terms 'stupid' and 'reckless' could also apply."

John gave him a look. "I'm not sure if you're trying to help me or help her."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, facing John in annoyance. "While it was correct to be concerned over her well-being, I do not believe it was appropriate to scold her as harshly as you did, as she was only trying to do what she felt was right. Now can we return to the matter at hand?" He asked, waving a hand towards the pictures still stuck to the wall, and turning to face them. "It's not just a criminal organization. It's a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of its leaders."

John shook his head at how eager Sherlock was to get off the subject of what happened with Sam, but went along with it for now.

"Soo Lin said the name."

"Yes. Shan. General Shan."

"We're still no closer to finding them."

"Wrong. We've got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces." Sherlock gave John a look, confused as to why he didn't respond. "Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need _her_ expertise?"

"She worked at the museum."

"Exactly."

John seemed to finally be catching up to what Sherlock was saying. "An expert in antiquities…Mm, of course. I see."

" _Valuable_ antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China's a home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao's revolution."

"The Black Lotus is selling them."

Sherlock seemed to get an idea then and went over to steal—borrow—John's computer, when a quiet sound reached their ears. Stopping what he was doing, he turned towards Sam, who was shifting slightly in her sleep, _her_ being the one who was making the odd sound. He moved over towards her and leaned over to find her brows furrowed in fear, before standing straight and turning to John, who was watching in confusion.

"She's having a nightmare."

"O-Oh, well…um…wake her up?"

Sherlock looked down at her with a small frown. "That may not be the best option in this case. Most likely, she is reliving the experience that happened to her not too long ago and waking her now may only serve to prove how skillful she is in her martial arts. And I'd rather she didn't use them on my person."

"Then what do we do?" John asked, concerned. "We can't just leave her like that."

"Hm, perhaps give her something that may calm her down. Something familiar or something she enjoys the scent of."

"What?" John asked, completely confused. "I get the familiar thing, but a _scent_?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he searched through the room in search of something, moving towards the bathroom even. "Just as a baby finds comfort in their mother's scent, people unconsciously relax when smelling something that pleases them or is familiar or nostalgic. Ah!"

Sherlock returned to the room with a couple of incense sticks from the bathroom and proceeded to light them and place them on the side table beside her head, smirking as her whimpering and fidgeting slowed to a stop.

"See?"

John blinked in confusion as Sherlock returned to the desk where his laptop sat. "How did you know that that would work?"

Sherlock waved a hand nonchalantly over his shoulder. "She bathed before going to bed, something you can tell from by the dampness of her hair and the humidity in the bathroom itself. She most likely lit some of the incense while she was in there to try and relax. The scent still lingers. Here, John."

Sherlock pointed at the screen and John headed over, leaning over to see the screen.

"Hm."

"Arrived from China four days ago. Anonymous. Vendor doesn't give his name. _Two_ undiscovered treasures from the East."

"One in Lukis' suitcase and one in Van Coon's."

Sherlock began typing in the search box, speaking out loud as he typed. "Antiquities sold at function…Look, here's another one."

"Hm." John hummed, leaning closer.

"Arrived from China a month ago. Chinese ceramic statue. Sold four hundred thousand."

John began flipping through the pages in Lukis's diary, comparing the dates. "Uh, look, a month before that." He said, pointing to the screen. "Chinese painting. Half a million."

"All of them from an anonymous source." Sherlock mused. "They're stealing them back in China and one by one they're feeding them into Britain."

"Huh." John skimmed through the diary again. "And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon traveling to China."

"So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them _stole_ something?"

"That's why Zhi Zhu's come."

Things grew tense in the short silence, but a sudden rap on the door frame made the two men turn to see Mrs. Hudson's smiling face.

"Oh-ho. Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?"

"What?"

"A young man's outside with crates of books."

"John, you get it."

John frowned, but did as he said, showing the couple of police men up the stairs with the crates and letting them know to just bring them in and set them anywhere there was room.

"So the numbers are references." Sherlock said, watching them for a moment before turning away.

"To books."

"To specific _pages_ and specific word on those pages."

"Alright." John said, still looking a little lost. "So…fifteen and one that means…"

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read."

John nodded. "Okay, so what's the message?"

"Depends on the book. That's the cunning of book _code._ " He took a deep breath. "It has to be one they both own."

"Okay, fine. Well, this shouldn't take too long…" He grumbled

Just as they started skimming the boxes, Sherlock paused with a frown.

"John, did you ever mention a book code to me before? During this case, I mean."

John raised a brow. "No, why?"

"I _distinctly_ remember someone saying something about a book code while I was in my mind palace or conversing to myself."

"Sam, perhaps?" John mused, shrugging. "I have no idea though. I never said anything… Should I wake her?"

Sherlock shook his head, going back to the books. "It would certainly move things along quicker, but I suggest letting her rest some more. She's been constantly yawning most of the day and hasn't slept for a good while."

"Alright…"

Dimmock suddenly walked in, holding a plastic evidence bag. "We found _these_ at the museum. Is this your writing?"

John took a look at it, having sat at the desk to write down some of the words and nodded. "Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us…Ta."

He placed the bag on the desk and Dimmock looked over at Sherlock.

"Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?"

"Some silence right now would be marvelous." Sherlock said, moving some books before gesturing to Sam on the couch. "My assistant is sleeping after having a rough night attacking a Chinese assassin."

Dimmock glanced at her before shifting his gaze to John, in the hopes that _he'd_ give him something to do, but John shook his head apologetically. A bit upset that he wasn't able to do anything, Dimmock took his leave as Sherlock and John scoured the books. John though still had one more question for Sherlock, as said man dropped off a pair of books with 'cigarette' as the first word.

"Do you think she'll be upset…about what I said?"

"Who?"

"Sam."

"I'm sure she'll get over it, John." He said, as John set his stack of books on the floor and went over to grab another group.

"Well, yeah, but I think what I said may have upset her a bit too much. I mean, I _did_ basically tell her that she was being a burden and didn't feel welcome with us."

"Mm." Sherlock hummed, more focused on the books than John's conversation.

"What if she just decides to run off? Or go back to her dorm?"

"She _is_ free to leave, John." He replied, dropping off another set of books on the desk.

"Yes, but…I kind of like having her here."

Sherlock paused in his searching, giving John a look, before resuming.

John sighed, setting his books aside for the moment. "Oh, come on, Sherlock! You can't tell me you don't like her even just a little bit."

"I don't like her even just a little bit." He repeated, childishly.

John rolled his eyes. "Not even when she deduced Sebastian? You've got to admit you enjoyed that. She one up-ed him for you."

Sherlock stayed silent and John continued.

"Well, the truth of the matter is, that I like having someone else around who actually _talks_ to me."

"I talk to you." Sherlock said, sounding a bit confused as to why John would say that.

"No. You talk _at_ me. I could say the most ridiculous things while you were going off on a rant and you wouldn't even notice."

"Like what?"

"Like…floppy banana."

Sherlock stopped, giving him a disbelieving look. "You can't expect me to stop talking about a case just because you said something like… _floppy banana_."

John tossed up his hands. "It was the only thing that came to my head, aright?! You can't just put me on the spot like that and expect me to come up with something—"

"Wait…that's it."

"Huh?" John looked over at Sherlock, confused.

"What I told you before. About hearing someone mention book codes before. It _was_ Sam. I had been talking to her, thinking it was you while you were upstairs sleeping. She'd stayed up so you could sleep for your job or whatever and when I mentioned finding Soo Lin Yao, she said that." Sherlock paused in his book searching and placed his fingers to his temples, scrunching his eyes closed as he thought back to that moment. "'Too bad you're not paying attention, or else you'd be listening when I told you it was a book code'. She told me, John." He said, snapping his eyes back open. "She knew before _I_ did what this was. But how?"

John shook his head, going back to what he was doing. "Maybe she'd seen it somewhere before."

"But then where? And why didn't she mention it again? It would've saved us quite the bit of trouble if she'd told us beforehand…Unless…" Sherlock frowned. "But that's impossible."

"What's impossible?"

Sherlock gave him a look, a frown marring his features. "Unless she knew that by telling us, we wouldn't go find Soo Lin Yao."

John turned to look at him in confusion. "But that's impossible. We didn't even _know_ Soo Lin Yao was in danger until later."

"Exactly." Sherlock said, eyeing the sleeping Sam on the couch, not knowing just how close he was to uncovering the truth about her.

* * *

I jolted upright in a panic as remnants of my nightmare slowly faded away, sighing quietly as I turned to see Sherlock and John going through stacks of books that had magically appeared while I had been sleeping. Sherlock was still pretty absorbed in what he was doing, but an alarm went off on John's phone and he checked to see that it was actually morning before sighing tiredly and dropping his head in his hands. He caught sight of me then and lowered his head a bit sheepishly, as I bowed my head and started going through my things for a change of clothes.

"I, uh, I'll pay for your cab fare, if you want, Sam."

"Sure, thanks." I muttered, getting up and very nearly crumpling back to the floor as my body ached in the process.

"Ah! Sam, are you oka—"

I pushed John's hand away from me, as he had gotten up to help, and stood up on my own.

"I'm fine." I bit out through grit teeth, limping to the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

I felt bad for the way I was treating John, but I knew he was probably still upset about yesterday and I personally didn't want to talk about it, especially since the memories were still very fresh in my mind. _And I spent most of last night reliving them. God, I'm tired._ I grimaced as I pulled on my dark jeans, trying in vain to keep from crying out at the pain that raced up my leg at the slightest of movements. _He really did a number on me when he kicked my leg like that. It's a damn good thing I stepped back or I'd surely have a broken leg._ Once I was fully dressed, I exited the bathroom and grabbed my jacket, going to wait downstairs for John. The walk down there was slow though, my leg protesting every step, and by the time I reached the front door, John was already finished and heading down the stairs.

"You never told me where you found a job." John said, as he hailed a cab.

"A café. I'm a waiter." I muttered, climbing in once he caught one.

He followed after as I told the cabbie the address and the ride began in silence. Very… _tense_ silence. Even the cabbie seemed a bit unnerved and John was the first to try and break the ice.

"Look, Sam…I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have yelled at you and I didn't mean what I sai—"

"Yes, you did." I said, turning and glancing at him briefly before looking back out the window. "And I get it. I'm stupid and reckless and didn't think things through enough for you. Fine. Sorry."

Things grew tense once more and John sighed.

"I was just worried, Sam. You were really hurt and all I could think about was what I would do if something really serious happened. What if you had died?…I kind of stopped thinking about what it was you had tried to do. Or what I would've done if I was in your position. I…don't think you're a burden or don't belong with us or anything. I just…want you to be more careful."

"I'm 21!" I said loudly, glaring at John. "What's it going to take for you and Sherlock to remember that?! You guys keep prancing around me like I'm some child who has no idea what they're talking about! I've had to deal with that my whole life!"

The cab pulled to a stop then and I got out, leaning back in to glare at John angrily.

"I thought I had finally found someone who would understand and would treat me the way I want to be treated…but I guess I was wrong."

I slammed the cab door and stormed into the café I was working at, heading to the back and changing into the clothes I was required to wear, putting on an apron and calming myself down so I could work the floor. _Just stop thinking about it. Worry about work for now, leave the personal issues with them._ Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and placed a smile on my face, heading out and grabbing a small notepad to write down orders and greeting the first group at their table; thankful that I had found some concealer in Sherlock's bathroom to hide the bruises on my face. Don't ask what _he_ uses it for.

"Good morning. Have you decided on what you would like to order?"

After hours of working, and playing polite, I was finally let off which I was extremely grateful for, because I was beginning to limp now that I had been on my feet all day. _Damn, my leg hurts._ I cringed as I massaged it in the back room, stripping out of my uniform and hanging it up as I changed back into my other clothes. I checked my wallet then, making sure that I had enough money for cab fare back to Baker Street, but I paused. Did I really want to go back? _John's upset with me, Soo Lin's dead…I can't do anything right. I'm just a burden to Sherlock and John and…Maybe I should just go back to my class._ I let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand through my hair as I left the café and headed down the street to a park nearby, sitting on the bench and staring up at the sky with a frown on my face.

I had an idea then, but I _really_ didn't like it. I didn't want to talk to this person at all if I could avoid it, but I felt like this was the only thing I could do. He was the only person I could really talk to here and, as much as I would probably hate it, perhaps he could help me figure out what to do in my situation. With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number he had given me that first day on the bus.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey, uh, Bobbie…It's…Sam."

" _Sam! I didn't think_ you'd _be calling me, heheh! How's it going on your detective case?"_

"That's the thing…It's not going so well and…something happened that…makes me almost want to come back to class."

" _What?! You don't want to do that! Not when you're out having adventures and stuff! Here. Tell me where you're at. I'll come meet up with you and we can talk about it!"_

"You can't do that, you idiot!" I scolded, sitting upright. "You have class!"

" _Then you come to me!"_

"Bobbie, I can't." I groaned, pulling a hand down my face. "For one thing, I don't have enough cab fare to get to the school. So, can I just…bounce some things off you?"

There was complete silence on the other line, before Bobbie's voice came through the phone, sounding oddly….worried.

"… _Sam…what's wrong?"_

I was _surprised_ that Bobbie was intuitive enough to know that something was wrong but, as much as I wanted to question how he knew, I felt that my other issues could do with a bit more solving.

"I just…I saw someone get killed last night."

The other line was silent, so I continued.

"I-I don't want to get into details, but…the detectives I'm with…We were on a case and there was this woman who was being targeted. I ended up getting left behind with her while John and Sherlock—the detectives—went after the killer. A-And I know judo. I can protect myself, you know, and I had just convinced this woman to not give up hope and everything but…the killer showed up." I swallowed thickly, my mind replaying the scene in my head as I spoke, making my voice tight. "I-I did my best to stop him but…he got past me and…killed her."

"… _Are you alright, Sam?"_

I nodded, knowing that he couldn't see me. "Yeah, no. I'm alright…I'm a bit beat up but seeing the body was a bit…much…I'd have to see it sooner or later, right? But…It's the fact that I couldn't do anything about it. I…couldn't stop him or protect her or hide her or anything. I _knew_ he was coming, but I was…useless."

"… _Sam…"_

I shook my head, pressing a hand to the side of my face as I felt myself slowly breaking down. "I was so useless! I should have done something! _Anything_! How am I supposed to prevent things like this from happening again if I couldn't even stop this one event from happening?!"

I felt a tear break through my façade and struggled to keep it together as Bobbie spoke calmly to me.

" _The way I see it, Sam, I can't tell you what you want to hear. I can't tell you I understand, because I don't. I'm not in your situation. And I can't say everything will be alright because, for all I know, it won't…But I can tell you that you're not useless. That you're not stupid and that you've just done something that not every person can say they did. You attempted to save a life And that…That is more than anyone could've asked of you."_

"B-But…I failed…"

He chuckled a little. _"That's the thing about trying…There's only one way to fail, and that's by not trying at all. You did what you could, Sam, and what you did was amazing. I didn't even see it, but I know that it's true. And you_ did _accomplish something. You gained something that not even your detective friends could have gotten out of that situation. You gained the knowledge you needed to make sure it doesn't happen again. Isn't that what being in law enforcement is all about? Saving lives and learning about how to improve the way you save them?"_

"I-I hate you, Bobbie…" I muttered, wiping the tears that had fallen down my face.

" _Aw, you know that's not true.~"_ He chimed, back to his old self and not this kind, wise, worried fool that he was.

I let out a light sigh, a small smile slowly working its way onto my face. "Thanks, Bobbie."

" _Anytime, Sam."_

I hung up then, tucking my phone away before standing and hailing a cab, climbing in and giving the cabbie a small smile.

"221B Baker Street, please."

As the cab drove, I stared out the window with my chin in my palm, watching the scenery as I thought silently. _First thing's first, I'll need to make up with John, but I'm still not pleased with being yelled at and treated like a kid…so I'll make him work for it._ I felt my lip twitch up in a small smirk but quickly shoved it back and adopted an annoyed expression as the cab pulled up to Baker Street; which wasn't hard considering that my leg was _really_ hurting. _I'll need to grab some pain meds or something. Let's hope Sherlock or John keep some._ I headed up the stairs with a grimace, and ruffled my hair tiredly. I wasn't surprised to find Sherlock standing with the boxes of books, flipping through a Bible and, judging from the noise upstairs, John was most likely in his room.

"I doubt it's the Bible, Sherlock. There's too many translations for it to be the same word on the fifteenth page in every one."

He lifted his head with a frown and set the book aside, looking me over for a moment.

"You work at a café?"

I looked down, trying to figure out what he saw that made him think that, but couldn't find anything. Shrugging though, I looked up with a dull look, shifting towards the bathroom door.

"Yeah. I'm a waiter. I get to pretend to be nice to people all day."

"Dull." He complained as I began riffling through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

"I suppose. If I'm bored though, I can always try to guess what their occupation is or what they'd want to eat based off of their personality or who they're with." I called out to him, not finding what I was looking for.

"Hm." He hummed, messing up his own hair in frustration as the door to John's room clicked shut; the man himself having came downstairs wearing some nicer clothes than he had been in when I had last seen him. "I need some air. We're going out tonight."

"Actually, I've, uh, got a date." John said with a smile.

"What?"

"Hey, do you guys have any pain meds?" I asked, sticking my head out of the bathroom.

John nodded. "They're under the sink. Sherlock was using them for experiments so I had to move them. You alright?"

I frowned at him. "Just peachy."

I then searched under the sink, smirking to myself about messing with John, as him and Sherlock continued speaking.

"A date?"

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun?"

"That's what I was suggesting…" Sherlock said, catching sight of me as I took a couple of dry pills and left the bathroom. "Though with us, it would be three people."

I felt my cheeks flush a bit, but shoved the emotion down, knowing that Sherlock didn't _actually_ mean a date.

"You weren't suggesting a date." John said. "At least, I hope not. And, uh, are you sure you're okay, Sam? You're limping pretty badly."

"Let's kick you in the knee and see how you take it." I glanced at him glaring; grabbing an apple off the table and taking a bite out of it before turning to watch Sherlock pout.

"Where are you taking her?"

"Eh, cinema." John said, shifting his glance from me to Sherlock.

"Dull." Sherlock said.

"Boring." I also mused.

"Predictable." Sherlock continued, moving over to John and passing him a paper with a box office phone number on it. "Why don't you try this? In London for one night only."

John looked at the number for the Yellow Dragon Circus and chuckled. "Thanks, but I don't come to you for dating advice."

I rolled my eyes. "Just do it, John. Take it from a girl. We'd rather have fun at a circus than sit in a cramped dark theater for two hours watching a movie that we _know_ the guy isn't really interested in."

He turned to me with a frown, but quickly eased up and sighed. "Fine. I'll try it out. But only because you suggested it, Sam." He shifted his gaze to Sherlock. "I don't trust _him_."

"Pft." I scoffed, muttering quietly to myself. "You'd probably take a bullet for him."

Plopping the apple in my mouth and holding it with my teeth, I stood up and headed back to the bathroom, having forgotten to remove the heavy concealer from my face. I stopped before I entered, feeling eyes on me, and caught sight of John looking sheepish. _Okay, that's it. I'm already tired of him tiptoeing around me._

I rolled my eyes. "I'll forgive you for now, but don't expect it to be so easy next time."

He blinked at me in surprise but before he could say anything, I went into the bathroom and began cleaning up my face. _Idiot_. Shaking my head, I left the room and watched as Sherlock hung up the phone with a smirk, John having left already, it seems.

"You just got us both tickets to this circus thing, didn't you?" I asked, finishing off my apple and throwing it away. "John's not going to be happy you ruined his date."

Sherlock continued to smirk as he went over and pulled on his coat and scarf. "John's date is of no concern of mine. Besides, the case is more important."

I shook my head with a chuckle. "Uh-huh. Just remember, when John asks who's idea it was, it's all on you."

He rolled his eyes before looking me over. "You're going like that?"

I looked down at myself, eyeing my dark jeans, combat boots, and grey t-shirt in confusion.

"What's wrong with this?" I asked, with a curious frown. "It's not a date for us. We're going after a gang, right? Is there any need to get dressed up?"

He blinked, looking a little lost, before he seemed to connect the dots. "You dislike dressing up."

 _Damn, he caught me…_ "It's not that. I just…don't care for stuffy clothes. And I hate dresses." I frowned. "And most other girly things. I could care less what people think of me, but if I want to look good for something, they better expect me to be wearing nice jeans and a dress shirt, because that's as formal as I'm getting."

Sherlock began to smile, but just when I caught sight of it, he turned and began heading to the door. "Good to know that I won't have to wait. Come along, Sam."

I rolled my eyes with a small smile and trailed after him, putting on my jacket; unable to wait to see what happens next, though slightly worried about bumping into Zhi Zhu once more.


	5. Chapter 5

The cab ride was relatively uneventful and I spent most of it just zoning as I looked out the window. Sherlock was silent as well, not making a sound the whole ride, and was probably off in his mind palace since I had to nudge him to let him know we were here. As we headed inside the building, I shuffled nervously, a bit worried about what would happen when I bumped into Zhi Zhu again and decided to take my mind off of things as I asked Sherlock something.

"You didn't tell John about us crashing his date, did you?"

"No. Why would I do that?" He asked, giving me a disbelieving look.

"What if _I_ did?"

His face suddenly morphed into a glare. "You _told_ him?"

 _Well, that's not the reaction I expected. I guess it's a good thing I_ didn't _tell John._ I shook my head. "No. I just wanted to know what you would've done had I told him."

He seemed to get more frustrated with me, before turning away with a huff, heading inside the building with long strides, making it hard for me to keep up—something he was probably doing on purpose.

"Sherlock! I was _kidding_! Oh, come on! Slow down!"

He abruptly came to a stop, causing me to bump into him and I went to scold him, but he shushed me and pointed out John and his date getting tickets from the box office. The manager turned to gather the tickets John requested, and Sherlock began walking forward as the manager returned.

"Actually, I have… _four_ in that name."

John looked at them in confusion. "No, I don't think so. We only booked two."

"Then I phoned back and got one for myself and Sam as well." Sherlock announced, surprising John as he and I walked over, Sherlock holding out his hand to John's date. "I'm Sherlock."

"Uh…hi." She said after a pause, shaking his hand.

"Hello." Sherlock replied, before walking towards the stairs.

John looked over at me and then back at Sherlock, and I hesitantly looked over at Sarah.

"I, uh…I'm Sam." I introduced, shaking her hand as well. "Sorry about Sherlock. He's a bit…different."

"I can see that." She said with a glance his way. "I'm going to the loo for a moment. Excuse me."

She left and I then turned to John.

"If you want, John, I'll get the tickets."

He frowned. "How?"

I pulled out the credit card he had given me earlier with a grin. "Sherlock's paying, right?"

He shook his head with a small laugh, but put his wallet away. "Alright. I need to go have a chat with Sherlock anyway."

His smile soon gave way to a frown as he headed part way up the stairs to speak with Sherlock and I shook my head, handing the manager the card and taking the tickets before tucking said card in my pocket. Sarah met up with me then, looking around for John, and I smiled politely before leading her to the stairs.

"Sorry. John went to go chat with Sherlock. They're over here."

"Oh, thank you."

I nodded and turned so that she was following me up the stairs and couldn't see how my kind smile slipped easily off my face as I approached the two. _Being polite all the time is a pain. I never liked smiling._

"What?" I heard Sherlock question and couldn't help the small snicker at what John said next; him speaking _rather_ loudly.

"While I'm trying to get off with Sarah!"

He noticed us then, myself clearing my throat to give him a small heads up and he turned to face her with a nervous grin, probably hoping that she hadn't heard what he said. _Though I'm sure the Chinese_ assassins _could've heard that._

"Hey…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and began climbing the stairs, and I did the same, John and Sarah following. We were left just chit chatting about various things for a few minutes until the performance area was darkened and just a circle of candles were left; leaving the room dimly lit. Sherlock was obviously scanning the room for any threats, but I kept my eyes fixated on the center ring. Only when John spoke to Sherlock and I over his shoulder, did I draw my attention away.

"You said circus. This is _not_ a circus. Look at the size of the crowd. Sherlock, this is…" He frowned in distaste. " _…art_."

"This is not their day job." Sherlock answered, smirking a bit.

 _It's starting…_ The rhythm of some drums got faster and faster and a woman—General Shan—came out on stage dressed up in a headdress and she walked over to a large crossbow, uncovering it. Music echoed through the room as she displayed a thick arrow and set it in the cross bow before dropping a feather into a small bow and causing the arrow to be launched across the room. The noise of the arrow piercing the wood was enough to startle the weak-hearted of the group watching, making me flinch a bit as I thought about what that would do to a person. After the audience clapped, Shan watched as a couple of guys came forward and two of them wrapped the other up in chains before chaining him to the board.

"Classic Chinese escapology act." Sherlock told John, Sarah and I.

"Hm?"

"Crossbow's on a delicate spring." Sherlock said, nodding to said weapon. "The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.

The drumming began again as Shan reloaded the crossbow and the man being chained let out an exaggerated shout as they pulled his bindings tight. I, myself, frowned as I muttered under my breath from beside Sherlock.

"He probably has a key in his hands or up his sleeves. Slight of the hand tricks are more amusing than this."

Sherlock, surprisingly enough, let out a short snort; having heard me, apparently, though I didn't think about it long. A cymbal crashed then, startling—not only Sarah—but myself as well and I jumped, bumping arms with Sherlock on accident and turning beet red.

"S-Sorry."

He looked down at me, giving me a short nod, before giving Sarah and John a look; the two now linking arms and John, himself, looking quite pleased. Shan then picked up a knife and stabbed it into a hanging bag of sand that, once emptied enough, would lower a weight and set off the crossbow. Sherlock explained this for John and Sarah, and the 'warrior' began grunting and shouting as he undid his bonds, just in time to dodge the arrow as the weight set it off. I turned though, noticing that Sherlock had run off and looked over at John in worry.

"I'll go after him." I said, quietly, and before John could protest, I hurried off backstage to where I knew Sherlock had gone.

" _Sherlock_!" I hissed, moving through the open door, hearing Shan in the other area talking about the next act. _God, that woman gives me the creeps._

Thankfully, I caught sight of Sherlock's moving shadow and hurried over to his side as he pulled back the curtain a little.

"That's him, right? Zhi Zhu?" I asked, announcing my presence to Sherlock, who wasn't the least bit shocked.

He nodded, but we both panicked when we heard the door opening and he grabbed me by the wrist and quickly pulled me behind a line of clothes, covering my mouth to keep me quiet. I came a little too close to the clothes though, bumping into them and creating noise, and Sherlock pulled me down as we listened to see if Shan had caught us. Sherlock pulled his hand away from me as we heard her leave and he caught sight of a bag of the same spray paint that had been used on the cipher, but I knew it wasn't over yet.

"Found you." Sherlock sang.

He then came out from behind the clothing and I did as well, hoping to warn him about the man hiding behind the suit of samurai armor.

"Uh, Sherlock…"

"Be quiet, Sam." He grumbled, spraying a line of paint over the mirror just as the man behind the armor began moving and I bumped into Sherlock as I backed up, catching his attention.

"S-Sherlock! We're not alone!"

"Look out!" He shouted, pulling me back as the samurai man sung at us with his weapon.

Sherlock then shoved me roughly aside, using the spray paint can to block the man's sword and hit him in the elbow, only to be kicked in the stomach.

"Sherlock!"

"Stay back!" He shouted, being kicked again before the man dropped his sword and grabbed him by the neck.

Sherlock knocked the man's hand off and sprayed him in the eyes with the yellow paint, shoving him back. Unfortunately, the man used that momentum to get back up, doing a spin kick and knocking Sherlock through the curtains. I wasn't too sure what to do and when the man turned to me, I swallowed thickly, moving to punch the man, only for him to kick me harshly in the stomach and use my clothes to throw me out after Sherlock. I couldn't roll and land like I wanted to and landed roughly on my back, all the breath being knocked out of me as the samurai man came out from behind the curtains as well with a flip.

He had apparently grabbed his sword before coming out here and raised it up to attack Sherlock and I, but good ol' John was there to tackle the man. The only problem was, he was knocked to the ground as well and none of us could really move enough to help Sherlock, when Sarah suddenly came over and slammed the arrow from before repeatedly into the man. He fell to the ground, disoriented and Sherlock managed to sit up and check for the tattoo on the bottom of his foot before helping me up and hurrying me and the others along.

"Come on. Let's go."

Once in the cab, we all gathered our breathes and headed towards Scotland Yard to report to Dimmock. Sherlock though glanced over us all quickly.

"Everyone alright?"

"Bit winded." John gasped out, holding hands with Sarah who was shaking a bit.

"I-I'm not hurt."

Sherlock nodded and turned to me. "You alright, Sam?"

I cringed, hand draped over my stomach after trying to straighten up. "Ngh, it hurts. T-That's for sure."

He rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ , it hurts. Idiot."

I frowned at him. "Well, _sorry_. I'd be fine if I hadn't already been beat up yesterday by his little friend. Being hit in the stomach repeatedly _before_ kind of makes things hurt a bit more _now_ , don't cha think?… _ass_." I muttered the curse, wincing as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but was stopped by what Sherlock said next.

"Let me see."

"What?" I gave him an odd look and he sighed, repeating himself and reaching towards the end of my jacket.

"I _said_ let me see it. Being hit repeatedly in the same area can cause internal bleeding, if you're not careful."

I frowned, but moved my hand so he could lift up my shirt a bit, showing the dark purple bruise that was there. I wasn't pleased though, when he pressed his cold fingers to it, igniting pain to flare up.

"Ow!" I shouted, pushing his hand off and pulling the edge of my shirt back down. "That hurts!"

"No internal bleeding." He said, turning away, completely ignoring my pissed off expression.

"You jerk." I grumbled. "That was revenge for me teasing you earlier, wasn't it?!"

The look he sent me confirmed my suspicions and I punched him in the shoulder, earning a complaint of my own.

"Ow!"

"Arse!"

"Now, now." John scolded with a chuckle. "No more fighting. We're on a case, remember?"

Sherlock and I huffed, turning away from one another as the cab pulled up to the Yard and we headed in; though Sherlock and I continued to glare at one another even as we went with Dimmock into the area where his office was.

"I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted."

"Look, I saw the mark at the circus. That tattoo that we saw on the two bodies. The mark of the Tong." Sherlock said, rather annoyed.

 _At Dimmock or me, I'm not really sure at the moment._ I mused as Dimmock reached his desk.

"Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation. Now, one of them _stole_ something when they were in China. Something valuable." John said, as Sherlock laid into Dimmock once more.

"These circus performers, they were sent here to get it back."

"Get _what_ back?"

Sherlock turned away from Dimmock and I spoke up to try and help.

"An ancient Chinese artifact of some sort…though we're not sure exactly what."

He gave me a glance and looked back at the others. "You don't know?"

Everyone collectively looked up towards the ceiling, giving Dimmock his answer as he sat down with a sigh.

"Mr. Holmes, I've done everything you've asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something. I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have _something_ to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime."

We all kind of looked at one another, before Dimmock sighed again, shifting some papers on his desk and grabbing a pen.

"Don't come back until you have something." He growled, dismissing us.

Sherlock, thoroughly frustrated, spun on his heel and hurried out with John, Sarah, and I all hurrying after him. The cab ride to 221B was filled with tense silence and once we showed up, Sherlock headed upstairs and began taking his coat off as he scanned over the photos above the fireplace.

"They'll be back in China by tomorrow." John said tiredly.

I shook my head, moving to the kitchen to start making tea. "No. They'll stay until they have what they want."

Sherlock grunted in response. "Hm. We need to find their hide-out. The rendezvous. Somewhere in this message it must tell us."

Things grew quiet and I waited, knowing that any moment now, Sarah was going to feel like a third wheel and make to leave. Sure enough, she didn't disappoint.

"Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it."

"Yes. It would be better to study if you left now."/"No, no. You don't have to go. Does she? You can stay." John said, the same time Sherlock spoke.

I shook my head with a smile in the kitchen, preparing three cups of tea and Sherlock's coffee, already knowing that Sarah was staying for a while. I also quickly called Mrs. Hudson's phone, being careful to keep my voice down.

" _Hello?"_

"Yeah, Mrs. Hudson? It's Sam. Do you think you could bring us up a little something? John's got a lady friend he's trying to impress and I haven't had a chance to go shopping yet."

" _Of course, deary. I just finished some biscuits. I'll bring them right over. Have you got drinks?"_

"Yeah, tea and such, but maybe you could whip something up? Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. I've got to go."

I hung up on her then, just in time for the tea to be finished and I headed out and passed them around. As I did this, Sherlock dumped his photographs on the desk and began sorting through them, John heading into the kitchen, no doubt to look for food.

"Sam." Sherlock called out, catching my attention as I picked up my own cup of tea.

"Yeah?"

"Help me look through these. Tell me if you spot anything useful."

I sighed, but sat down beside him and began lazily shifting through the papers. I was being halfhearted about the task he'd just given me, knowing that there was nothing to find here, but making it look as though I was actually searching for something on the outside. And let me tell you, it's harder than it sounds when the person you're hiding it from is Sherlock Holmes.

"So this is what you do…" Sarah mused. "You and John. You solve puzzles for a living."

"Consulting detective." Sherlock snapped at her.

"Oh…"

"Behave." I grumbled to him, getting a huff in response, until Sarah came over and pointed at a paper in-between us.

"What are these squiggles?"

"Numbers." I muttered, skimming my eyes over some odd symbols on a piece of paper Sherlock had handed me.

"In an ancient Chinese dialect." Sherlock said, not as snappy as before, but still annoyed.

"Oh, right. Yeah, well, of course I should've known that." Sarah said, shifting her gaze to me. "And, uh, you're helping them? But you're just a—"

"I'm 21." I complained, sending her a glare. "And he asked me to join him and John for a while on solving cases after he caught me being smart at an interview with a robber that I watched at Scotland Yard."

"But you're only in college."

"I'm on a travel abroad trip for school." I said, beginning to get annoyed along with Sherlock.

"Oh. Right…"

She then reached over and picked up the bag with the brick wall photo we'd gotten back from evidence and I watched silently as Sherlock looked at her in disbelief. _Oh, her audacity._ I thought sarcastically with an eye roll.

"So these numbers. It's a cipher."

"Exactly!" He said, rolling his eyes as well.

"And each pair of numbers is a word."

I pretended to be surprised and looked up along with Sherlock as he spoke.

"How did you know that?"

"Well, two words have already been translated." She said and I snatched the bag from her, lying it on the desk before us as she pointed them out. "Here."

"John." Sherlock said, catching his attention in the kitchen.

"Hm?"

"John!" I called out, standing up with Sherlock as he pulled the thing from the bag. "You might wanna see this!"

He hurried in from the kitchen as I grinned, watching Sherlock unfold the paper.

"Soo Lin from the museum. She started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it."

"I _knew_ it was a good thing I handed that to her."

"A good thing, indeed." He said. "Nine mill."

"That mean millions?" John questioned, leaning over to look at the photo.

"Nine million quid. For what?" He suddenly turned around, crumpling the photo in his hands as he grabbed his coat and scarf.

"Where are you going?" John questioned.

"To the museum. To the restoration room. _Oh_ , we must have been staring right at it!" He said loudly, putting on his coat.

"A-At what?" John asked, confused.

"The book, John! The _book_! The key to cracking the cipher! Soo Lin used it to do this!" He waved the photo and grabbed his scarf. "Whilst we were running around the gallery, Sam was smart enough to hand her this and she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk."

He ran out of the flat and John, Sarah, and I stared at the open door in confusion and shock. I scratched the back of my head, very much confused.

"Should I, uh, go after him?"

John shook his head, to get out of his thoughts and moved over to the kitchen table. "You can if you want, but he's probably already half-way there by now."

Now, came the choice. _Do I go after Sherlock to try and get his attention before Zhi Zhu takes John and Sarah?_ I frowned to myself. _No, that won't work. He'll be so focused on the cipher by now that he won't listen. So I stay here…but is there a way to keep John and Sarah from being taken? If_ I _answer the door to get the takeout, will they be safe?_ I shook my head, starting to pace as I thought, not noticing that John and Sarah were already ordering the takeout and had started giving me odd looks. _No, there's no guarantee they'll be safe, especially since Zhi Zhu is the person who wrote the cipher on the windows. Even if I was to answer the door, these Chinese assassins would probably take John and Sarah too, if only to be hostages. B-But…I have to try, right?_

I was jolted out of my thoughts by a couple of knocks on the door and quickly shifted my head to look as John began heading that way.

"Oh, blimey, that was quick. I'll just pop down."

"W-Wait!" I called out, catching John just before he left the room, putting on a shaky fake smile. "I'll, uh…I'll get it."

"You don't have to. I'm fine getting i—"

"No!" I shouted, before trying to brush it off with a chuckle. "Heh, y-you've already paid for my food once. I-I can pay this time."

He frowned, suspicious of my motives. "I don't know what you're up to, but alright. Just…don't go doing anything…stupid."

"I…" _What do I say?_ "I hear ya." I said, heading out as I swallowed back the anxiety that threatened to make me panic on the way to answer the door.

 _Should I try to fight back? I'll probably only end up getting more hurt, especially if there's more than one person. Either way…I don't think there's anything I could do to keep John and Sarah from being taken…except…_ An idea suddenly came into my head and, as much as I worried something could make it go wrong, I was willing to take the risk. _For Sarah…and for John…_ Taking a deep breath and gathering as much courage as I could, I opened the door to see the hooded Chinese man.

Before he could get a word out, I spoke. "I know what you want and I don't have it."

He frowned, but I continued before he could react.

" _However_ I do know where it's at…and I will tell you…on one condition."

"What is your…condition?" He asked, not looking pleased, but looking willing to cooperate, for now.

"Leave everyone in the house alone. Mark the door or whatever with your cipher, but don't touch the people inside. Do that, and I will go with you and tell you where it is."

He frowned once more. "And how do I know you're not bluffing?"

 _H-How do I convince him?_ Another idea popped into my head. _Give him something that no one but I could know._

"Nine mill for jade pin dragon den black tramway." I said, trying to keep from showing just how nervous I was. "That's what your message said. I will go with you, but they are to be left alone."

He smirked then, looking smug. "Very well."

I just barely caught sight of the black weapon he used to hit me upside the head and then, the world went black.

* * *

Sherlock quickly pounded up the stairs, excited for what he had just discovered and he burst through the door to his flat with a big grin on his face.

"John! Sam! I've got it! The cipher! The book! It's the London A to Z that they used!"

"Really? You've got it?" John said, hurrying over to Sherlock's side as he showed him the photo, now with his black handwriting.

"Yes. They're looking for some sort of jade pin. This black tramway must be where their hideout is. We can get them, John!"

"That's great!" He said back, looking at Sarah in excitement as Sherlock looked around the flat.

"Where's Sam?"

"Hm?" John turned back around and did his own look over of the room. "Oh, she went downstairs to pick up the takeaway. Though I don't know why it's taking her so long."

Sherlock frowned. "I didn't see her downstairs, John."

It was John's turn to frown. "Well, she couldn't have come back up. She would have said something…"

Then, someone knocked on the door downstairs. They looked at each other, before Sherlock headed down with John, the two of them answering the door where a younger Chinese man stood holding some takeaway boxes. "You ordered, yes?"

"A-Ah, yeah…" John said, taking the food from the man before looking up and down the block. "You haven't, um, seen a younger girl with short auburn hair already, have you?"

He tilted his head, lost. "No, sir…Ah, but you may wish to clean your door. The paint is better taken off when it's fresh."

"Paint?" John questioned, just as Sherlock caught sight of the cipher spray painted across the front of the door.

"John…"

John looked back and paled. "Oh God…She's been taken."

John hurriedly grabbed a bundle of bills to pay the Chinese takeout man at the door and him and Sherlock hurried back upstairs. Sherlock immediately began pulling out a map and lying it out over the table, Sarah standing nearby in confusion as him and John hurried about.

"What's going on?"

"Sam's been taken a-and I'm really sorry, Sarah, but I think you should go." John replied, truly sorry, but knowing that now wasn't the time.

"Yes, right. I, um, hope you find him…" She said, not realizing her mistake—not that anyone was going to correct her at the moment—and gathering her things before leaving; just as John couldn't hold back anymore.

"Dammit! How couldn't we have noticed?! She was right there in the doorway for Pete's sake! We should've heard something!"

"John, will you shut up!" Sherlock snapped at him, glaring at his companion. "Panicking will not help us find her!"

John, stunned into silence, slowly nodded his head, getting control of himself as he hurried over to Sherlock's side.

"A-Alright. So what have we got?"

"The cipher that I translated is our clue. Tramway." His eyes scoured the map, before finding it, stabbing his finger into the place on the map. "There! Hurry, John!"

Sherlock quickly headed towards the door and John grabbed his coat before hurrying out after him. By the time Sherlock hailed a cab and they were on their way, John had a sudden thought.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock made no notice of hearing him, but John continued.

"Sherlock, Sam did something odd, right before she was taken."

 _That_ caught his attention, and he turned to John with a contemplative frown.

"Odd, how?"

"She, uh…She wanted to answer the door."

Sherlock gave him a look, turning back to the window. "I don't see how that could imply anything."

John shook his head, trying to get Sherlock to understand. "No, Sherlock! I mean, she was _adamant_ about answering the door! Stopping me and…and, I don't know! She was acting suspiciously! Like she _knew_ that something was going to happen!"

Sherlock snapped his head back to John. "You're saying, that she knew they were coming? That she _willingly_ let herself get taken?"

John pulled a hand through his hair, completely confused. "I don't know, Sherlock! That's why I'm asking you!"

Sherlock paused. "It's possible…"

"What?!"

"Think about it, John. Hasn't something like this happened before?"

His eyes widened. "You mean the cipher?"

Sherlock nodded, eyes narrowed. "She already _knows_ about these things, John. I can't explain it, but it seems to be the only explanation."

"B-But why? Why wouldn't she say anything? Why'd she let this happen?!"

Sherlock shook his head with a frown. "I don't know, John, but if we want any answers we have to help her first."

* * *

I woke up slowly, head aching painfully and vision blurry. I couldn't quite remember what happened for a moment, but once I did, I quickly looked around only for pain to flare up and make me lower my head once more with a small grunt. _Good…John and Sarah aren't here. Thank God…though I don't think I should be thanking him just yet. My situation doesn't look very good at the moment._

"A book is like a magic garden." A voice said from in front of me as I tried to blink the blurriness out of my eyes and focus on General Shan. "Carried in your pocket."

She walked over to me as I tried to look around a bit, eyeing the tunnel I was in and the large cloth—covering what was most likely the crossbow—directly in front of me. General Shan brought my attention back to her though, as she lifted the sunglasses from her face.

"Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes."

I felt my lip twitch up in amusement, glad my plan worked out, but quickly dropping it; knowing that I could still possibly die here.

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes."

"Forgive me if I do not take your word for it." She smiled, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out my wallet as I grimaced at the pain in my head. "Debit card. Name of S. Holmes."

"He gave it to me for groceries." I breathed out.

"A check for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"He gave it to me to look after." I lied.

"Tickets from the theater, collected by you, name of Holmes."

I sighed, lifting my head and still trying to orient myself. "Doesn't look to good, does it? Shame I'm not him."

"We heard it from your own mouth." She said, still doubting me.

"Did you?"

"'I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone, because no one else can compete with my massive intellect'." She quoted.

I sighed again, cringing as the action made my head ache. "I was mocking him. Not that I could persuade you that I was doing an impression."

I lifted my head, spotting the small pistol she aimed at me and leaned back as much as I could, feeling fear sink into the pit of my stomach. _O-Oh man. Come on, Sam. D-Don't panic! It's empty, remember? J-Just so she could, uh, try and get answers from me. Nothing wrong here!_ I couldn't stop the feeling though. I knew that because I changed places with John and Sarah, things would change. The plot would be messed up somewhere and I worried that maybe, just maybe, it could change here. For me. Shan's gun might actually be loaded. She might _actually_ shoot me. I could die right here and never be able to see John, Sherlock, Bobbie, or my brothers again. Or, it could change elsewhere down the road. Because I kept Sarah from being taken, John might never meet Mary. Either way, I couldn't predict what I had changed or when it will rear its ugly head. That didn't mean I wanted to be afraid though. I didn't want to be scared. I wanted to face her like Sherlock would or with that confidence that John had. _I-I-I guess it's just impossible for me, huh?…After all…I'm just some kid, right?_

"I am Shan." The woman said.

"G-Good to know." I stuttered out, not taking my eyes off the gun.

"Three times we tried to _kill_ you and your companions, Mr. Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?" She cocked the gun and I began struggling against the restraints on my wrist, squirming uncomfortably in my chair.

"D-Don't." I breathed out, clenching my eyes shut, turning away.

There was a click and I broke out of my panic, looking with wide eyes at the gun that hadn't shot. _O-Oh God…Oh, thank God…_ My tense posture relaxed ever so slightly in my relief, but my breathing remained ragged in fear.

"It tells you they're not _really_ trying." She then pulled out a clip and cocked the gun, smirking down at me as panic swallowed me once more. "Not blank bullets now. If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive…Do you have it?"

"H-Have it?"

"The treasure." She said, glaring at me.

"Don't know what you're talking about." I lied.

"Yet my man said you knew about it. Now how is that?"

I swallowed, staying silent, whereas she smirked.

"There is more than one way to get answers out of you, Mr. Holmes."

One of her men pulled the cloth off of the crossbow, making me eye it warily.

"Everything in the West has its price." Shan said. "And the price for your life: information."

I chuckled nervously, fear rising up as tears tickled the corner of my eyes. "Heh, f-funny story about that. I-I-I, uh…I find that threatening me d-doesn't really work."

She smirked. "Is that so? Well then, I'll just have to prove you wrong, now won't I?"

She suddenly pulled the trigger to her pistol, the bullet landing just between my feet and kicking up sharp shards of concrete, making my heart jump up into my throat as panic suddenly flooded my body.

"God, oh God, oh God, oh God." I muttered under my breath, which was coming out in short gasps now as I tried to find a way out of this. _Shouldn't have said that. Sooooo shouldn't have said that!_

"Where's the hairpin?" She asked.

"W-What?" I stuttered out, having a hard time hearing her over the thumping of my head and the pounding of my heart.

"The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West, and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and _you_ , Mr. Holmes, have been searching."

"P-Please. I-I'm not really him! I'm not Sherlock Holmes! You have t-to believe me! D-Do you really think he'd be as young as I am?" I begged, very much afraid for my life and trying to waste time for Sherlock and John to get here. _If they even do. I might have screwed that up too._

"I need a volunteer from the audience!" She said loudly, smirking down at me.

"N-No, please!"

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Holmes. Yes. You'll do very nicely." She said, moving over to the hanging sand bag and pulling out a knife, stabbing it and letting the sand out. "Gentlemen! From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure, Sherlock Holmes in a death defying act!" She placed a black lotus flower on my lap, smirking widely. "You've seen the act before, how dull for you. You know how it ends."

"C-Come on! I-I-I'm not him!"

"That does not matter. Whether you are him or not, you have already said you have the information we need."

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" I shouted, tears starting to slip down my face in my panic.

"I don't believe you."

"You should, you know." A deep, familiar voice said, making Shan turn around with her gun raised as I let out a half-sob, half-sigh of relief.

"Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like her."

I watched, breathing hard as Sherlock's silhouette ducked behind something along with John's and Shan cocked her pistol, sending one of her men after him.

"How would you describe me, Sam? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"

"L-L-Late." I breathed out, having forgotten about the crossbow still aimed at me for now. _And a pain in the ass, if he really wants to know._

He either ignored my comment or didn't hear me. "That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand meters per second."

"Well?"

"Well…" Sherlock popped out from behind the shadows, knocking the man who had gone after him unconscious with a pipe, and he ducked back into the dark. "The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet… Could hit anyone…Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit _you_."

John and him suddenly ran forward, knocking down one of the burning cylinders and sending a good portion of the tunnel into darkness. I struggled to try and find Sherlock as Shan ran, but upon feeling hands trying to undo my ropes, I began panicking once more.

"N-No, Sherlock! Zhi Zhu!"

Just as I tried to warn him, he was being strangled by said man and I heard grunting as John fought with the other.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, having incapacitated his offender and started running towards Sherlock, but I shook my head.

"No, John! T-The crossbow! Use the crossbow!"

He gave me a worried look, but nodded, hurrying over to said weapon and grunting with the effort of turning it. _Come on, come on…_ He managed just in time and the arrow shot out of it, zooming by my head, hitting Zhi Zhu in the chest and forcing him to release Sherlock. I let out a sigh of relief, hearing coughing behind me as John hurried back there to probably help Sherlock out as we heard the disappearing footsteps of Shan. Finally, hands began prying at my bonds once more, Sherlock speaking quietly from behind me as I tried to get my breathing back under control. John came over and knelt in front of me, a hand on my leg as I kept my head bowed in a poor attempt to hide my tears.

"It's okay. You're going to be all right. It's over now. It's over." Sherlock said from behind me as I nodded, whole body quivering in fear.

"You alright, Sam?" John asked as Sherlock finally released me, and I couldn't help but grab a hold of Sherlock and cling to him for support.

I probably shocked him, because it took him a moment before he lightly placed a hand on my upper back and another on my head.

"I-I-I'm sorry." I cried, having given up on trying to hide my fear. "I'm s-sorry. S-Sorry."

They didn't say anything and John made sure to call the police over before we headed out. I had since let go of Sherlock, knowing that he wasn't one for dealing with emotional women, and I hadn't said a word since. _I'm s-so stupid. I cried in front of Sherlock a-a-and put his life and John's in danger. T-They shouldn't have rescued me. They shouldn't have rescued some kid who thinks they know what's best._ Sherlock stayed back to speak with Dimmock as John led me forward with a hand and a shock blanket over my shoulders, him hailing a cab as we waited for Sherlock.

"You sure you're alright?" He asked as one pulled up. "You've been pretty quiet."

"Yeah. Just a bit…shaken, I guess." I said, shrugging.

He frowned, going to say something more, but Sherlock showed up then and we climbed into the cab and returned home, no one saying a word. Once we were back at 221B though, something changed and Sherlock moved a kitchen chair across from his and John's, and pointed at it.

"Sit."

I wasn't sure what was going on, but did as he asked, though John seemed to understand and began arguing with him.

"Sherlock! You want to do this _now_?! We just got her home after being _kidnapped_!"

"It's fine, John." I said, giving him a small smile. "I don't mind."

He looked over at me, but finally sighed and sat down as well, giving Sherlock a chance to ask whatever it was he wanted to ask.

"You knew about this, didn't you?"

 _Oh no…Please don't be asking what I think you're asking._ "Knew what?" I asked, playing dumb.

Sherlock frowned. "You knew you were going to be taken, just as you knew about the cipher being a book code and Soo Lin being alive, and that if you told us about the book code we wouldn't go after her."

I lifted my gaze, keeping my eyes locked with his in an attempt to show that I wasn't lying, even though I was. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He smirked suddenly, throwing me off guard. "And there she is."

"Huh?"

Even John was confused.

Sherlock though, continued to grin, leaning forward as I furrowed my brows, lost. "The _real_ Sam. The Sam that's been hiding behind the mask of a child. Now tell me, because I know you're lying." His grin fell and he gazed back at me seriously. "How did you know and why didn't you tell us anything?"

I stayed silent, knowing that I couldn't answer him. Especially since _I_ didn't even know really what had happened. And trying to explain something as ridiculous as jumping onto a time-line of a TV show, to _the_ Sherlock Holmes? No. I knew better. I knew that would cause more problems than I could fix and I wasn't going to be the one putting people's lives on the line because I decided to be a blabber mouth. _I can't help him, because helping him could be the death of us all._

"You know things, Sam. Things you shouldn't know and I want to know where you got that information and why you didn't say anything. Did you really think you could hide it from us? Hide it from _me_?" Sherlock stood, moving in front of me and glaring down at me before kneeling so that he was at my eye level, dark eyes boring into my very soul in search of answers. " _Tell me._ "

"No." I said, defiantly.

His lips twitched in annoyance. "I can get answers out of you if I wanted to, Sam, so it'd be best if you told me. I could always send you to my brother and _he_ could get answers instead."

My heart plummeted into my stomach at the thought of Mycroft interrogating me, but I quickly shoved the fear back, gaze hardening. _I can't. What if Moriarty gets word? I could be killed for these very same answers…I can't tell him anything…as much as I want to._ I saw Sherlock still staring at me, waiting and I frowned.

"No."

I could tell that he was getting frustrated, but John suddenly intervened.

"Sam, just tell us." He said, sounding concerned. "Maybe we could help somehow."

"You can't." I said, looking over at him and feeling my gaze soften slightly. "You couldn't do anything and…and I can't tell you."

Sherlock huffed then, moving towards his bedroom door and pausing, turning and giving me a scathing glare. "Then pack your bag. You're returning to your class first thing tomorrow morning. Goodbye, Sam."

He stomped upstairs to his room and I was forced to close my gaping mouth, looking down at my lap as tears threatened to burst through. _No. I can't cry. I-I knew this was going to happen. I knew he'd find out and do this but…that doesn't mean it hurts any less._ I felt a hand land on my shoulder and swallowed down my tears as I looked over at John, who was still giving me that worried look.

"I'm sorry, Sam…but we're just worried about you. Are you sure there's nothing you can tell us?"

"I-I _can't_ , John. I'm sorry, but…it's impossible. I-I can't tell you guys."

He let out a disappointed sigh and nodded, giving me a pat on the back and heading towards his own room, sending me one last look.

"Goodnight, Sam."

As soon as the door shut, the tears came back up again and I just let them fall down my face as I continued to sit in the chair I had been left in. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…_ Early the next morning, before anyone had come down for breakfast, I picked up my suitcase and quietly as I could, headed down the stairs before catching a cab. I took one last look up at 221B Baker Street and caught sight of a tall, lanky shadow just before it moved back behind the curtains. I bowed my head sadly and climbed into the cab, hoping that they'd at least take the time to read the letter I left behind and silently wishing them good luck.

* * *

 _To Sherlock and John,_

 _I know you want answers, but there is not much I can tell you. I_ do _have information, but it is impossible to explain how I came about it or what it is exactly without putting people's lives in danger; more specifically, both of yours. Rest assured though, I will not tell anyone no matter what happens and I thank you for taking me with you on your case. I learned a lot and perhaps, we'll bump into each other again some time. But for now, farewell and…I'm sorry._

 _Sam_

 _P.S. John, I will send you my stories through your_

 _email if you're still interested and there's no milk left in your fridge._

 _Thought you should know._

 _P.S.S. Sherlock, thank you for noticing me and_

 _I believe there is mold growing on the eyeballs in the fridge._

 _Unless that's a part of your experiment, I suggest throwing them out._


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: Hints of torture.**

* * *

A month and a half. It had been a whole month and a half since Sam had returned from being with the two detectives and Bobbie was worried. She hadn't been acting like herself. She was a lot quieter than normal and when she did speak, it was as though nothing was worth enjoying anymore. _Though she kind of sounded like that before, but this is a bit much._ She hadn't told Bobbie why she came back either and whenever he asked about it, she'd always sigh and just tell him…

" _It was nothing. I just screwed up."_

Now, he wasn't one for leaving people alone. He had often seen Sam in his psychology class sitting by herself and he always had this feeling that he should go speak with her. Personally, he was a social butterfly. He made friends easily enough and people seemed to gravitate towards him anyway. He was just a very cheerful, outgoing guy. There was just something different about Sam that made him curious.

She was diligent in her studies and usually marked pretty high on tests and such, getting top scores on most of them. Yet, no one really paid her any attention. It was like she was made out of thin air and she seemed to like it that way. She never rose her hand or asked questions, though he'd see her stay after class on occasion to ask the professor something, and she seemed altogether lonely. He once asked the people in the class if they knew her and none of them could really say anything. To him, that was the worst way to live so, he decided to take a chance.

" _Ah! You have gum? Can I have a piece?"_

After that, he became determined to hang around her, even going as far as to leave his other friends to speak with her. He knew that it bothered her a bit, but when she actually talked to him—asking him about the detectives—he felt glad knowing that he'd at least connected to her there. And that feeling only grew when she told him about what had happened with the case she was working on. But now, he was concerned.

She wouldn't tell him anything and he noticed that whenever they had a break, she'd be sitting with a cigarette and trying to write in her notebook only to rip out the page and pull a hand through her hair. He knew that she didn't want to be here. Well, she _did_ , but she wanted to be with those detectives _more_. Not only that, but schedules had been really tight lately with the bombings going off. Sam had gotten really pale too, when they first got word of it and he knew something was up, _and_ that it had something to do with those detective. So, he came up with a plan. A plan that, if it turned out right, could give Sam a chance to get back with them.

"See, Sam? Aren't we lucky? The professor gave us the whole day off because he caught a silly old cold!" Bobbie grinned. "We got to do all sorts of stuff!"

"Uh-huh." Sam muttered, hands stuffed in her pockets as her eyes lazily scanned the streets around her.

"Neh, neh, Sam? Let's go to this neat looking sandwich place I saw the other day! I promise it's super good!"

Sam shrugged. "If you want to."

"Awesome!" Bobbie smiled and took a hold of Sam's hand and hurried down the sidewalk, expecting her to complain, but she just allowed herself to be dragged around silently.

After a moment, they were nearly there and he could tell that Sam was getting suspicious.

"Bobbie, where are we going?"

"The sandwich place I told you about!" He replied, a bit giddy about what he was doing. "It's a really neat little place right by a bunch of flats and it's really cozy and the sandwiches are pretty good too! Trust me, you'll love it!"

 _Not to mention the fact that it's right under the place where the detectives live, but I won't tell her that until we get there. She'll be thrilled! And maybe we could go convince them to let her help them again! Oh man, it's a good thing I looked up that guy's blog the other day and got his address._ Bobbie's grin continued to grow as they hurried down the street, before he was forced to stop, Sam having realized what was going on.

"Bobbie, what are you doing?" She said with a frown.

Bobbie gave her an innocent look. "What are you talking about, Sam? I'm taking you to that sandwich place for lunch. Didn't you hear me?"

Her frown grew. "You're talking about Speedy's, aren't you?"

"How'd you know?!" He said, faking astonishment.

Sam tried to pull away from him. "Well, I'm not interested, Bobbie. Let's go back. The professor said we needed to be back before 9 and with the bombs going off, it'd be better if we went back."

"No way!" He said, tugging her the other way, back towards the little shop. "We finally got a chance to explore and enjoy some great food!"

"I said, no, Bobbie!" She half-shouted, warily eyeing the people who turned to give them frowns at how loud they were being.

Bobbie just continued to tug her along. "Come _on_ , Sam! You'll really like it!"

They both stopped right outside of the restaurant, Sam finally getting her hand free as she yanked it out of his grip.

"Sam?"

"I know what you're trying to do, Bobbie." She said, appearing to be stuck between being angry and being almost… scared. "Bringing me back here isn't going to change anything! I-I screwed up! I can't go back!"

Bobbie held out his hands, worried at how she was acting. _I haven't seen her like this before. These detective guys, they… they're really important to her…_

"How do you know before you try, Sam? They might want you back too!"

"You don't understand, Bobbie!" She said back loudly. "I can't! They want answers that I can't give them! I got kidnapped! I got someone _killed_! They're better off leaving me!"

Bobbie frowned suddenly, something Sam didn't expect, and he grabbed her by the shoulders and stared back at her seriously. "That's not true and you know it! They picked you, because you _could_ help them! They _wanted_ you! So what if you got kidnapped?! Like you could fight off some assassin or whatever on your own?! Same with that person getting killed! You can't do everything on your own, Sam! Give them a chance to help you! You need them just as much as they need you! You're not alone anymore, okay?!"

Sam opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish, before something seemed to have caught her eye behind Bobbie. Her eyes widened and just as Bobbie went to ask what was wrong, she bolted down the street.

"Sam!"

She didn't stop though, just running off and when Bobbie went to look at whatever she'd seen, he was surprised to see the tall, curly haired detective looking down from the window of the flat above him in slight surprise. The man turned and disappeared and Bobbie groaned, pulling a hand through his hair before dashing down the street after Sam.

"Sam! Wait!"

 _I really screwed up this time..._

* * *

It was late. I knew that. I should probably be back at the dorms by now, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Bobbie was there and I knew that the moment I went back, he'd start asking questions and the professor would scold me for not being back by curfew and I just didn't want to deal with all of that right now. I just wanted to take a walk, smoke, maybe grab a bite to eat, and pretend that Bobbie hadn't tried to drag me to Sherlock's flat in some stupid scheme to get me working with them again. I pinched the bridge of my nose with a wince, a headache having flared up as my emotions ran rampant in my head. I was doing my best to shove them back into that little box in the back of my mind, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. Especially since I heard about that bombing on Baker Street.

I wasn't stupid. I knew that that meant. It meant Moriarty had shown up and was teasing Sherlock by sticking him in that game of his. _It probably won't be long until they're facing each other off at the pool where Carl Powers died._ I mused, before quickly scolding myself for even thinking about it as I dug through my pockets for a cigarette and put my headphones up over my ears with the volume up as I listened to Breaking Benjamin. _Just stop thinking about it, Sam. You screwed up and they sent you back. You knew it was going to happen eventually and it did. You shouldn't of gotten attached. You know better._ My throat got tight and I cursed quietly as I stuck a cigarette between my lips and tried to light it. Not even the nicotine was helping though and I grit my teeth around the filter as I walked with my hands tucked deep in my pockets. _You wouldn't be any help to them anyway. Knowing you, you'd get caught by Moriarty when he played Jim from I.T. and get kidnapped again. If not killed._

I sighed, trying to calm my temper as I considered dropping by a bar and getting a drink; since I was already breaking the rules by staying out past curfew anyway. I checked my phone though and winced at the number of calls I'd gotten from Bobbie, but as he called again, I hit 'ignore' and began searching for a bar. Just as I spotted one though, a loud boom echoed through the air and I was knocked to the ground as debris flew around the street. People nearby screamed as car alarms went off and dust scattered across the area, shading the view of the disaster and I struggled to get up; something having hit me hard across the head. My vision spun and I couldn't move as someone blocked my view of the street and knelt down. Their voice was familiar though. _Deadly_ familiar.

"Oh, look what I found.~ Who would've thought I'd find you here?"

I let out a weak whimper as I tried to move, but the person stopped me.

"Sh, sh. It's alright. I'll take good care of you. After all..." He leaned over and gave me a good look at his smirking face. "...you're a friend of Sherlock's right?"

 _N-No... It's can't be... Anyone but him... Please..._ I mentally begged just before I fell unconscious, leaving me in the hands of none other than Moriarty.

* * *

Sherlock frowned, arguing with John as a news report on a bomb going off in a block of flats went on in the background.

"There are _lives_ at stake, Sherlock. Actual _human_ lives. Just... Just so I know, do you care about that at all?" John asked angrily.

"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock snapped back, hands steepled in front of him.

"Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

"And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes, very." Sherlock argued, furrowing his brows. "Is that news to you?"

"No." John shook his head with a bitter smile. "No."

Sherlock eyed him, catching sight of something that annoyed the detective. "I've disappointed you."

"That's good. That's a good deduction, yeah."

" _Don't_ make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

"Is that why you sent Sam back to the dorms?"

Sherlock's head snapped up, having turned to glance at the pink phone to see if he'd gotten anything from the bomber. "What?"

"Sam. You know, our friend? The one who helped on the last case?" John questioned. "You sent her back to the dorms because she wasn't giving you answers. Or, that's what you said."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course that's why I sent her back. You read her little note. She was putting all of us in danger."

"Yeah, including herself." John argued. "I think you sent her back so she wouldn't get hurt or caught up in all this, _not_ because she wouldn't answer some question."

Sherlock scoffed. "Hardly. And she is _not_ my friend."

"Course not." John said sarcastically with his own eye roll. "That's why you began composing the moment she was gone, yeah? Just admit it, Sherlock. You liked having her around."

Sherlock went to argue further, but the phone on the arm of his chair went off and his attention immediately turned to that.

"Excellent!"

He opened the mail and eyed the picture on the screen with a slight smirk.

"View of the Thames. South Bank. Somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo." He said, before pulling out his own phone to do research, speaking to John. "You check the papers. I'll look online..."

Sherlock glanced up and saw that John had yet to move from his position; bracing himself on the back of his chair while shaking his bowed head.

"Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help."

John lifted his head and shrugged, saying nothing as he went on.

"Not much help, this caring lark."

John gave in reluctantly and went over to search through the papers. "Archway suicide."

"Ten a penny." Sherlock snapped, wondering silently if Sam would've been a better choice at doing this if she'd been around to do so.

"Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington." John continued, not even getting a response from Sherlock this time. "Ah, man found on the train line. Andrew West."

Just then, the pink phone went off again and Sherlock's brows furrowed as John lifted his head to see what news they'd gotten. When Sherlock seemed to pale, John grew worried.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to him, eyes grave. "John, call up Sam's professor. _Now_."

John gave him an odd look. "What? Why?"

"Just do it!" Sherlock snapped, making John flinch back in shock before nodding and pulling out his phone.

"Ah, yes, Professor Hayes? This is—Hey!" John shouted as Sherlock snatched the phone out of his hands.

"You're Sam's professor, correct? This is Sherlock Holmes, the detective working with Scotland Yard who borrowed her for a time. Can a speak to... ah..." Sherlock tucked the phone to his chest as he looked at John. "What was her classmate's name? The excitable one."

"Um, I think it was Bobbie something." John said, confused as to what was going on as Sherlock nodded and spoke into the phone.

"Bobbie. No, I just need to speak with him."

Sherlock frowned, glaring at thin air and John grew more worried as he saw the muscles in his jaw tighten as he ground his teeth, before Sherlock turned away and spoke quickly into the phone.

"Bobbie, where is Sam? When was the last time you saw her?"

"Sam's missing?!" John exclaimed and Sherlock glared at him briefly before turning back to the phone.

"No, don't tell them. Inform the professor that she's with me. Yes. I _will_ get her back."

Sherlock abruptly hung up the phone and John had had enough of being left out of the group.

"Sherlock, what's going on? Is Sam missing?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I know exactly where she is."

"Where?!"

Sherlock passed John his phone and as John looked at it, his heart sank.

"With the bomber." Sherlock grumbled as John gaped at the picture of an unconscious Sam tied to a chair on Sherlock's screen.

"W-We have to get her back!" John shouted, giving the man back his phone. "Sherlock, we have to—"

"I _know_ John!" Sherlock shouted, making John freeze as he dragged a hand down his face. "The only way we can get her back is to find the bomber."

Sherlock began dialing a number on his phone and John blinked out of his stupor.

"Who are you calling?"

"Lestrade. We need to figure out where this picture of the Thames is." Sherlock replied and John swallowed down the frustration towards Sherlock's indifference for now, knowing that he was right.

The only way they were going to have a chance of getting Sam back was to find this guy. And hopefully, Sam would be okay until then.

* * *

I woke up slowly, feeling dizzy and nauseous as I clenched my eyes shut and tried to remember what happened. Everything was sort of fuzzy and all I could think of was being angry with someone. The scent of smoke on my clothes told me that I was smoking, but other than that, I couldn't remember anything. Nor could I remember why my head hurt so badly. I went to bring a hand up to my head, but my arm wouldn't move and I begrudgingly opened my eyes, flinching at the light in the room, and followed my arm down to find out that my hands were tied behind my back. _W-What? But why..._ I looked around the room as best I could and felt a chill sweep down my spine at the concrete floor and single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. _W-Where... Where am I? How did I get here?_ Fear trickled into my body as I struggled against my bonds uselessly and tried to figure out where I was and what was going on. I then caught sight of a small flashing red light in front of me and paled at the sight of a video camera on a tripod.

 _Okay, okay, calm down. Think. What's the last thing I remember?_ I tried, but all I could think of was being angry. I couldn't even remember who I was angry with! _T-That's okay. No problem. Probably because of my head injury. No big deal._ I looked around again, but felt tears clogging up my throat in my panic. _Oh, who am I kidding?! I've been kidnapped! I'm going to die because no one knows where I am a-and I'll be lucky if Bobbie or someone in class realizes I'm not there, but they'll probably think I'm with Sherlock and Sherlock will think I'm with them and no one will bother looking for me a-and..._ I sniffed, feeling the tears start to fall as I struggled to rein in my emotions. _And this is all my fault. This is what I get f-for screwing up with Sherlock. I-I should've just stayed with the dorm. Hell, I should've just stayed home. All I do is screw things up._ I sat there and wallowed in self pity for a while, before the tears finally stopped falling and I'd calmed down enough to actually think and try to figure out what was happening.

 _I-I've been kidnapped. Okay. But who would want to kidnap me? No one that I know of, s-so maybe someone who saw Sherlock and I together?_ I winced. _I'd almost prefer it if someone I knew kidnapped me. It'd be better than dealing with Moriarty..._ I then looked around, searching for something that would tell me where I was. _No windows and a cement floor means a basement of some kind, but that's about all I can figure out._ I sniffed again, feeling that sense of hopelessness starting to come back, but I quickly squashed it down and focused on my predicament. _A-And I'm tied to a chair._ I twisted my wrists a bit, cringing at the rope chaffing and the fact that my hands were going numb. _Too tight to wiggle out of, seeing as it's cutting off my blood supply._ _Which leaves me with nothing. I-I'm trapped. Stuck here waiting for someone to talk to me and tell me what's going on._

"U-Um, hello?" I called out, lifting my head with a sniff as I looked at the video camera. "C-Could someone tell me what's going on? I-I, um..." I clenched my eyes shut for a second, trying to think. "I don't even remember what h-happened, so some clarity might be... nice?... Um... _please_?"

 _What am I thinking? Being so polite to my kidnappers?_ I lowered my head with a sigh. _Like they'll just come in here and tell me since I asked nicely. God, I'm stupid._ Or so I said, but I heard a quite beep and looked up to see the door behind the camera open as a familiar voice spoke.

"Well, since you asked so nicely.~"

All the blood drained from my face upon seeing Moriarty himself walk into the room, wearing his usual Westwood suit and a large smirk on his face.

"How's your head?"

I jumped at the question and quickly tried to get out a response and act the innocent bystander, who knew _nothing_ about Moriarty and his vast web of criminal connections.

"U-Um, i-i-it hurts. What happened? Why am I here?"

"Oh, nothing much. Though I should apologize. The bombing _was_ sort of my fault." He grinned and my brows furrowed as I tried to remember what happened.

 _That's right... There was an explosion and something hit me, but that doesn't explain... oh no... Bobbie. I was angry with Bobbie for trying to take me to Sherlock's and I ran. God..._

"Ah, you seemed to have remembered."

I nodded slowly. "W-Why am I here?" I asked, cautiously.

He raised a brow. "You don't want to know who I am?"

I internally winced, scolding myself as I tried to come up with some excuse. "I-I-I didn't think you'd tell me? Kidnappers don't usually socialize with their victims u-unless it's personal."

"Oh, you _are_ intelligent, aren't you?" He smirked, coming over to stand right in front of me and leaning down slightly to come face-to-face. "I can see why Sherlock likes you."

"T-This is because of him? Cause he, um... he doesn't really like me much. I-I screwed up the last time a-and he sent me back to my dorm. I-I'm only here for school." I stuttered out, feeling that bit of hurt rear its ugly head at my words.

"Oh, he hurt you, didn't he?" Moriarty asked, brushing a hand alongside my face that I immediately turned away from. "Well, that's alright. He is _quite_ the heart breaker after all. Oh! I know!" He grinned suddenly, stepping away from me and doing a little twirl back around to face me. "You can help me! We can get revenge on him together! How's that sound?"

I gave him a disbelieving look. "Y-You want _me_ to help you? What could _I_ do?"

He just continued to smile, though it felt more like a predatory smirk to me. "All sorts of things. Sherlock _trusts_ you, after all. I could cut you loose right now and you could go back to him. Then all you'd have to do is bring him right back to me and we could tear him down together."

"Why?" I asked, making him give me a confused look. "Why should I trust you to do that? You kidnapped me and could kill me after. And just because Sherlock kicked me off cases with him doesn't mean I'm willing to give him up to some crazy stalker criminal."

"That's harsh, Sammy." He said, putting a hand over his heart in mock hurt and making me stiffen upon him already knowing my name. "I didn't _have_ to help you, you know. I could've left you on the curb and you might've just been buried by debris. And what reason would I have for killing you? I'm not so cliché as to do so just because you saw my face or because you said _no_ of all things. Though there _are_ other ways to convince you."

I swallowed thickly at his threat, but grit my teeth as I tried to keep calm and pretend that I was just arguing with Mycroft or someone _less_ likely to kill me.

"You wouldn't do that." I said, more confidently than I felt.

"Oh?" He sauntered closer, a devilish smirk on his face. "And what makes you say that?"

"Because. You don't get your hands dirty. You take a backseat to everything so no one can trace anything back to you. You won't get anything out of torturing me or whatever. You can always go get someone else to do this. I'm not some stupid kid. A threat with no motivation to back it up is just words."

I flinched when he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back to look up at him.

"Oh-ho! A different side to my little Sammy. Isn't _that_ interesting?" He teased, yanking a little harder when I tried to lower my head back. "You're _definitely_ not some kid, Sammy, and I think we could get along really well if you do this little task for me."

"Like I'd work for you." I scoffed, wincing again as his smile became sickeningly sweet.

"Oh, but Sammy, Sammy! Think about it. You could prove it to him. To Sherlock. Prove that you could be better than him. That you're smart and clever just like he is. He'll _have_ to respect you when you trick him into coming to me. Isn't that what you want? Just a little recognition from your idol?" He breathed down my neck, sending shivers down my spine in slight fear.

"I-I don't need your help." I snapped at him. "If I can't get recognition from him, then I don't deserve it."

Or so I said, but a part of me _wanted_ to take Moriarty's offer. I _did_ want Sherlock's recognition. Desperately. I wanted to prove to him and everyone else that I wasn't just some kid. That I could be intelligent and could stand up and prove myself to everyone. And Moriarty's offer was definitely tempting. I could see how he was able to easily manipulate people into doing his bidding. He knew exactly what to look for. He'd find the triggers and pressure points of people and then twist his words around into thinking that what he had was better than anything. Make you doubt your own actions and turn to his side to get what you've always wanted. And I was disgusted with myself for even considering it, knowing that all he did in the end was betray those close to him and set them up for failure or life on the run. And I didn't want that. I wanted to prove to Sherlock myself that I could be better than this. And as Moriarty pulled away, I knew he saw the stiffened resolve in my eyes that said I would never take his offer and his smile slipped as his eyes turned cold.

"This is the only offer you're going to receive from me, Sammy. I'll give you some time to think about it."

He got up and left the room and I let out a shaky sigh of relief once he did, feeling my body quiver in fear at the man I'd just faced. _And will have to face again, no doubt. God, what am I going to do? Sherlock... please help me..._

* * *

Sherlock was beginning to grow more and more frustrated. After dealing with the Golem, only for him to escape, he'd hoped to go back to Baker Street and play the violin to relax before he would head to the museum to confront the woman trying to pass off the Veneer as real. But the moment he'd begun to play, all he could think about was Sam. They'd yet to get any leads on her or the bomber and, despite what Sherlock had told John earlier, he _did_ like the young college student. He could see her potential and actually enjoyed the time she spent with them on their cases. She was _far_ better than his skull and even pushed past John a little because she would bounce theories back. Sure, John would attempt to do so as well, but it was nice to have someone on near equal footing to talk to.

Sherlock frowned, lowering his violin momentarily. _Since when did I consider her to be anywhere close to equal footing with me? And a_ friend _at that?_ He couldn't help but think this, his normal sociopathic behaviors trying to argue against what his emotions were telling him, but one side was winning. He truly did consider her a friend, despite whatever it was she was hiding. Sherlock groaned and got up, moving to his desk and digging through the drawers before he found the note Sam had left when he'd kicked her out, skimming over it as he tried to figure out what it was she was hiding. _Obviously dangerous information. Dangerous not only for her, but for John and myself as well, though I don't know how she could have come about this_ information _. Much less what it could be. And there isn't much my brother doesn't know, so she must be someone of extreme importance or extreme danger to be able to know something and get it past my brother without so much as a peep._ He shoved the letter back into the drawer and slammed it closed before returning to his chair and steepling his hands in front of his chin as he entered his mind palace for some sense of peace. Everywhere he looked though, laid memories of Sam.

* * *

"Have you decided?"

I flinched, sitting up and blinking the exhaustion from my eyes as I faced Moriarty.

"Yeah."

"Then you'll join me?" He asked, a smirk on his face.

"No way in hell." I snapped at him, too tired of all of this to even care anymore. "Sherlock's my friend, whether he considers me one or not, and I'm not going to sell him out to some lunatic like you."

"Bad choice, Sammy." He said, all smiles gone as he approached and harshly grabbed my jaw. "Because I don't take 'no' for an answer."

"Shame, because like I told that Chinese assassin you hired, I find that threatening me doesn't really work."

I didn't think he could become more frightening than he already was—because internally I was shaking like mad and mentally smacking myself for egging him on—but he proved me wrong and the grip he had on my jaw tightened.

"How did you know that?" He snarled and I cringed at the pressure that made it feel like my jaw was going to break.

"W-What?" I questioned, having no idea what he was talking about.

"The _assassin_." He hissed out, shaking me and making me cringe. "How did you know I hired her?"

I mentally cursed my slip up and immediately played stupid.

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about! I guessed, okay?! You're Sherlock's enemy, who else would've hired them?!"

"I don't believe you." He snarled, before suddenly smiling. "So let's play a game.~"

He moved away, heading for the door, but paused in the doorway to turn back at me with that sickeningly sweet smile.

"I'll give you ten minutes to tell me, before the game begins and I turn to other means. Bye Sammy.~"

He left and I paled, immediately returning to my panicked state as I realized what I'd done. _W-What did I just do?! Me and my big mouth, I just_ had _to go and say something that gave me away! My God, he's going to torture me a-and I don't know how long I can hold out. I-I'm just a kid! I don't care if I'm 21, I'm going to be tortured into giving up the fact that I have foreknowledge a-and Sherlock and John will be in trouble, all because I said I wouldn't help Moriarty. I-I should've just lied. This is... This is just like my nightmare..._ I felt tears clog up my throat and I sniffed as I bowed my head. _I-I don't want to die..._

A few moments later, and Moriarty returned with another larger man behind him. _Probably Sebastian, if I had to guess..._ My mind idly supplied as I stared blankly at the floor, my mind and body having given up before the torture even started. I wasn't giving in though. I vowed not to say a word about what I knew or anything else that could get Sherlock or John hurt. And, if it came down to it, I'd die with my secrets. That was a big decision for me to make and I spent every second of the ten minutes Moriarty left me trying to find an alternative, but that was the ultimate ending to all of this. I knew Moriarty wouldn't hold out on me forever and once he grew bored it'd be the end of me anyway, so I'd given up. The only bit of hope I had, was that I'd live long enough to apologize to Sherlock and John for being a bother to them and actually thank Bobbie for being there when I had no one else.

"Are you ready to talk?" Moriarty asked, though my eyes trailed over to Sebastian as he brought in a trough full of water.

"I can't tell you anything." I muttered, lifting my gaze to Moriarty's cold one. "And even if I could, I wouldn't give out Sherlock like that."

My eyes trailed back down to the floor as Moriarty nodded to Sebastian and my chair was dragged over to the water trough before it was tipped and I plunged head-first into the icy water. After a minute or so, my lungs burned for air and the chair was tipped back out of the water, leaving me gasping and choking as Moriarty spoke again.

"Wrong answer, Sammy.~ Now let's try that again." He leaned close and snarled at me. "Tell me what you know."

" _No_." I croaked back and I was dunked again.

And every time after that, I'd say the same thing. No, I wouldn't tell him. No, I wouldn't give out Sherlock. No, no, no, no, no. And, after a while, I began to question why I wasn't giving in. It'd be easier. As Moriarty told me, I'd live a decent life with him looking out for me. It'd be better than dying for someone who didn't even like me. His words grew more and more enticing, but my resolve held and I continued to numbly say no until I couldn't even speak and even then, I shook my head. I wouldn't do it, no matter what. And even _I_ was surprised at how I continued to stick to that answer even when Sebastian hit me and knocked me around for a change of pace. Even Moriarty seemed to grow annoyed and actually brought in a cattle prod when I spat in his face. It wasn't pleasant. And even when they walked out to 'deal with something that came up', I could still feel them torturing me.

I could feel myself being dunked back in the water again, feel the electricity zapping through my body, hear Moriarty asking me the same question over and over again. And I still muttered a quiet no under my breath. They weren't even in the room and I was still saying nothing but that simple word. Sebastian came back though, and tried again, leaving Moriarty to other more important things, I was guessing. And it wasn't until Moriarty returned that things changed and he lifted my bruised face to meet his.

"Lucky you, Sammy, we're going to see your friends for a change of scenery. I'm sure they'll love to see you, especially after I show them how you betrayed them."

I furrowed my brows in confusion, forcing myself to speak. "W-What... I-I didn't..."

"Oh yes, but they'll hardly believe that." He smirked. "After all, it's the word of some kid against mine. Who do _you_ think they'll listen to, hm?"

I couldn't argue with him. He had a point. If he was able to easily manipulate people to his own will, then who's to say that Sherlock and John would believe me. Sherlock already knew I was keeping secrets and even though he didn't know what they were, it wasn't a hard leap to assume that I was on Moriarty's team this whole time.

Sebastian soon got me out of the chair after Moriarty had left to go on ahead, and had to practically drag me out to the car once he'd blindfolded, gagged and handcuffed me. I was stuffed into the trunk of a car and driven somewhere, too exhausted to do much more than lay there and cry as I prayed that Sherlock wouldn't believe whatever lies Moriarty was going to tell him. Once I was yanked out of the car, I was brought to the pool where Moriarty would have his showdown with Sherlock—the smell of chlorine being a dead giveaway as to where we were. Sebastian then took off the blindfold and gag, only to start putting cover-up on the dark bruises on my face and Moriarty explained for me before I could question the sniper's sudden taste for woman's makeup.

"Have to have you looking your best for when I explain to Sherlock what you've done. He wouldn't rightly believe me if you had bruises on your face." He hummed, adjusting his suit in the old mirror of the locker room.

I couldn't say much back with Sebastian gripping my jaw tightly and still applying the makeup, before I was gagged again and forced to sit on the floor at Moriarty's feet. Sebastian soon left and I was stuck with the humming man before me as he checked himself out in a mirror and I struggled not to slip to sleep with how exhausted I was. I was abruptly woken though when a familiar voice echoed through the building.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. _All_ to distract me from this."

Moriarty snickered from beside me. "Thinks he's so clever, doesn't he?"

It was then that I heard a stall door open and assumed that John had made his fated appearance, as Moriarty spoke into a phone telling him what to say.

"Evening... This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock."

"John. What the hell..."

"Bet you never saw _this_ coming." Moriarty smirked. "Now open the jacket John."

There was a pause before he spoke again.

"What would you like me to make him say next?" Moriarty hummed, dragging out the sentence to add tension to the room. "Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' geer."

"Stop it." Sherlock snapped and Moriarty smirked devilishly, loving what he was doing.

"Nice touch this. The pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart."

I cursed Moriarty loudly through my gag, but he simply kicked me harshly in the stomach and leaned down to my level as he held the phone to his chest.

"Now, now, Sammy. It'll be your turn soon enough, so stay _quiet_." He hissed out the last bit, sending ice through my veins. "And you won't say a word to go against me or I'll kill the both of them."

"Who are you?!" Sherlock snapped out once more, as Moriarty took out my gag.

"Up you go, Sammy. It's _showtime_." He grinned, yanking me up to my feet and tugged me along after him; pausing just outside the door behind a pillar. "I gave you my number. I thought you might call."

He tugged me out after him and I barely caught sight of Sherlock's hard gaze before I lowered my eyes and Moriarty moved me closer as the two of us walked around the edge of the pool.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket... or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both." Sherlock said calmly, raising the gun he'd pulled from his pocket to aim at Moriarty.

Moriarty hardly seemed bothered. "Jim Moriarty... Hi~"

In fact, he seemed more bothered by the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to recognize him.

"Jim? Jim from the hospital?"

Sherlock simply leveled his gun and I felt unease stirring violently in my stomach.

"Oh... Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that _was_ rather the point."

Sherlock glanced over at John and Moriarty quickly drew his attention back to him.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. Although, _Sammy_ here, she's a very dirty girl."

I grimaced as he pushed me in front of him and onto my knees near the edge of the pool, the water nearby making my stomach churn as I remembered what I'd just gone through.

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock. Just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist... you see. Like you."

"'Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister'?" Sherlock quoted. "'Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America'?"

I was grabbed again and pulled even closer to Sherlock and John.

"Just so." Jim hummed.

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant." Sherlock complimented and Jim smiled.

"Isn't it? No one ever gets to me and no one ever will."

" _I_ did." Sherlock said, cocking the pistol.

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah, okay. I did." Jim said with a shrug. "But the flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now~"

We moved even closer.

"I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning... my dear. Back off." Jim smiled then, moving closer again. "Although, I have _loved_ this... this little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died."

"That's what people _do_!" Jim shouted, making me flinch and clench my eyes shut as I flashed back to him yelling at me for answers. "Oh look. You've made me frighten little Sammy." He hummed, all previous anger gone as he brushed a hand over my cheek, making me shift uneasily as Sherlock glared.

"I _will_ stop you."

"No you won't." Jim said, shaking his head.

Sherlock then turned to John. "You alright?"

Jim smiled and pushed me down to my knees beside the pool, making me cringe as my knees hit the hard floor and he sauntered over to John.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead."

John said nothing and Sherlock glanced at me, but I couldn't even look him in the eye.

"Take it." Sherlock finally said, handing Jim the flashdrive with the missile plans.

"Huh? Oh, that. The missile plans." Jim took it from him and kissed it before tossing it into the pool. "Boring.~ I could've got them anywhere."

John suddenly rushed up and grabbed Jim in a choke hold, though the man just chuckled.

"Sherlock, run!"

"Oh, ho, ho! _Good_! _Very_ good."

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." John threatened, looking over at me then. "Sam, get up. Go stand by Sherlock."

I swallowed thickly, not moving and knowing what was going to happen as Jim snickered.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around though Sammy there is a completely different. More so than you think. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal, but _oops_! You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

I spotted the red dot that appeared on Sherlock's head and silently lowered my head as John let Jim go with his hands up; Jim patting down his suit.

"Gotcha~ Westwood." He then went on. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to _you_?"

"Oh, let me guess, I get killed." Sherlock drawled out.

"Kill you?" Jim grimaced. "Mm, no. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying... I'll burn you... I'll burn the _heart_ out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock said quietly and Jim grinned.

"But we both know that's not _quite_ true. Sammy here is proof of that. Shame she's on my side though."

Sherlock frowned, glancing between the two of us in confusion and Jim grinned.

"That's right, Sherlock. _She_ works for _me._ Surly you noticed? She's been keeping secrets, dark secrets." He said smoothly, and already I could see Sherlock growing doubtful of my intentions. "The only reason she's here is because you kicked her out. She screwed up and I thought you'd like to get one last look at the woman who betrayed you."

"Sam?" Sherlock breathed out and I slowly lowered my gaze to the floor, having no choice but to stay silent and allow Sherlock to believe what he will, because if I didn't, he'd be killed and I'd rather him hate me than have to die.

"Oh, see? That proves it." Jim snickered, before turning away. "Well, I'd better be off."

He moved towards me and yanked me up to my feet, making me cringe in pain, before he turned back to Sherlock.

"Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now. Right now." Sherlock threatened, pistol aimed firmly at Jim.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Jim said, making an exaggerated shocked expression. "Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really I would. And just a teensy bit... disappointed... And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

He tugged me along and I gave Sherlock one last look over my shoulder, begging him to believe that I had nothing to do with this, but he took one look at me and frowned as Jim sang over his shoulder.

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

"Catch you... later."

"No you won't!" Jim called back as we exited the building and said man grinned, looking like a kid in a candy store whereas I felt anything but.

* * *

Sherlock kept his gun trained on the door Jim walked out of with Sam, before turning to John and scrambling to get the bomb jacket off him.

"Alright?" He asked him, but John just tipped his head back and let out a long sigh of relief.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock repeated, and John finally nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine."

Sherlock struggled to get the jacket off, but finally managed to do so and tossed it over to the other end of the pool. Breathing heavily, John tried to deal with the shock of what he'd just gone through and Sherlock rushed to make sure Jim left as John stumbled and sank to the floor, trying to calm himself down as Sherlock returned; scratching his head with the pistol.

"Are _you_ okay?" John asked him and Sherlock began pacing as his mind ran a million miles a second.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock then waved his gun around towards him. "That, uh... Thing that you, uh, that you did, that you, um..." He cleared his throat. "You offered to do, that was, um... good."

"I'm glad no one saw that." John muttered, making Sherlock look at him in confusion.

"Hm?"

"You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk and Sam would have a field... day..." John's brows furrowed and he turned to Sherlock, who had begun to furrow his brows as well. "Was he, um... Was Moriarty telling the truth? About her?"

"I don't know." Sherlock grumbled, John seeing the signs of his frustration growing. "I don't _know_."

John tried to think then, going over what Moriarty said and what he'd seen of Sam. "He could be lying, Sherlock. I mean, he's a criminal, right? And Sam, she's... she's our friend."

"But she's keeping secrets, John." Sherlock snapped. "Who's to say that this wasn't her secret? Hm? She's knows things she shouldn't and what other explanation is there? She's obviously _not_ who we thought she was."

John shook his head, still conflicted. "I don't know, Sherlock. I still think we should give her a chance..." He glanced over to the door that Jim had taken Sam through. "...if we get that chance..."

"We will." Sherlock said suddenly, surprising John. "I told Bobbie I would bring her back and I will. Whether it's to continue working with us or spend her time in prison, however, is up to her."

John nodded, seeing Sherlock's reasoning, and began to push himself up only to spot a number of red dots lining themselves up with his chest; making him mentally panic.

"Oh..."

"Sorry boys! I'm _so_ changeable!" Jim called out, dragging Sam back into the room as he chuckled. "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my _only_ weakness."

There was a grunt as Sam was shoved harshly down onto the ground and John caught sight of her before she turned her gaze away from him shamefully. Jim though, was done playing games.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but..." He chuckled once more and sang, "...everything I have to say has already crossed your mind~"

Sam pushed herself up onto her knees with a grimace and Sherlock turned to face them with his gun at the ready; aimed at the bomb jacket on the ground not far from her and Jim.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours."

There was a tense moment of silence as everyone waited for him to pull the trigger, but the silence was broken when 'Stayin' Alive' by the Bee Gees' began to echo through the room. Sherlock and John looked around in confusion, but Jim let out a soft sigh, making Sherlock frown.

"Do you mind if I get that?" Jim asked and Sherlock waved his pistol nonchalantly.

"No, no. Please. You've got the rest of your life."

Jim pulled out his phone and answered it. "Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?"

Jim mouthed that he was 'sorry' and Sherlock answered silently with 'oh, it's fine' just before Jim shouted venomously.

"Say that again!" He then lowered his voice, hardly taking notice of Sam flinching. "Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will _skin_ you."

Sherlock and John exchanged brief glances and Jim turned his gaze to them as he spoke into the phone.

"Wait." He put the person on hold and then moved up to where he'd thrown Sam, making Sherlock check his aim in nervous anticipation.

"Sorry." Jim said, lifting his gaze from the bomb jacket to Sherlock. "Wrong day to die."

"Oh." Sherlock said calmly. "Did you get a better offer?"

Jim didn't comment on that and turned to leave. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock. Possibly you too, Sammy."

Sam stiffened as Jim knelt down to her level with a grin and pat her face.

"Sorry we can't play anymore. I've got bigger things to deal with today."

He got up then and lifting his phone back to his ear as he walked around the side of the pool.

"So, if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into _shoes_."

Jim snapped his fingers and the sniper dots disappeared, but just before the door closed, he called out one last time.

"Have a nice swim!"

Sherlock frowned in confusion and looked to John who looked to Sam and his eyes widened.

"Sam!"

Sam looked down to see a red dot on her chest and looked back up with sorrowful eyes towards Sherlock just as a gunshot rang out and she fell backwards into the pool.


	7. Chapter 7

_Drowning. God, did I hate drowning. Sure, you're fine for the few moments you have air, but then your lungs start to burn, begging for oxygen, and you have no choice but to gasp for air, only for water to fill your lungs instead. Then the burning gets worse, your body aches as it realizes it still can't take in the air it needs, and then you grow heavy. Your entire being feels weighted down and your vision starts to turn black around the edges and your final thoughts go through your head in that last moment._ I won't see my brothers again... They won't know how this happened... Sherlock will hate me because I won't be there to tell him the truth... Bobbie will be crushed, might even blame himself... I never got to do anything with my life... I'm scared... I-I'm scared... I don't want to die... Please, someone... Please help me...

 _And then he appeared. Like a devil crawling from the pit, he pulled me out only to point a gun at me and smirk that sickeningly sweet grin._

" _Tell me what you know, Sammy. Tell me and it'll all be over."_

No... I can't... I won't sell him out... Please, someone help me... Sherlock... _Water choked my airways as it returned, filling me up as I choked and gagged on the never ending torrent of water, my entire body begging me to do something, for someone to save me. But I suddenly realized no one would. And that was my last thought before my eyes snapped open with a gasp._

* * *

 _Where..._ I took in starving gasps of air as a heart monitor beeped wildly on my left and I mentally panicked as I sat up and struggled to find something familiar. I felt myself choking again, airways becoming smaller and eyes tearing up as I clutched at my throat, trying and failing to take in the much needed air that was around me. I didn't notice the door opening or someone rushing in until they placed a hand on my back and spoke; their deep timbre voice cutting through the fog in my head like a knife.

" _Breathe_."

I sucked in a large lungful of air and slowly managed to get my breathing back down to a decent pace, feeling completely exhausted after my panic attack as I was lightly pushed back down onto the bed. I couldn't see clearly and already I was beginning to slip back into unconsciousness as the tall dark figure started speaking with someone else in the room. They started to pull away, but I immediately didn't want them to and felt my hand grab onto their sleeve before I knew what I was doing. They paused, turning towards me slightly before letting out a sigh as I lost myself to the world once more.

* * *

The second time I awoke, I was much calmer and simply blinked open my eyes and looked around the hospital room wearily. I struggled to remember what had happened for me to end up here, and decided to push the thought aside for later upon feeling my throat tighten slightly at the attempt. I cleared my throat and sat up slightly, adjusting the bed accordingly to help my aching shoulder and ringing up the nurse. My throat was _extremely_ sore. An older woman wandered in and I spoke with a croaky voice and a small grimace of a smile.

"Could I p-possibly get some..." I had to clear my throat again. "...water? I seem to be having s-some... _difficulty—_ "

I was cut off as I began coughing and the woman hurried over and rubbed my back until I stopped.

"I will get you your water, but I suggest you keep from talking for a while. The breathing tube was only pulled out a few days ago and your throat was already raw from—"

"B-Breathing tube?!" I exclaimed and once again began coughing, to which the woman lightly smacked my leg.

"What did I just say?" She scolded, not bothering to assist me again as she headed for the door. "Honestly, kids these days. They never listen."

"I-I'm twenty-one." I muttered, but she was already through the door and I was once again left on my own.

Looking around, I expected some sort of evidence that someone had been here, but there wasn't even a 'Get Well Soon' card on the small table next to me. _As if I didn't feel alone enough_. I mentally lamented, before suddenly furrowing my brows trying to figure out why those words hurt more than they usually did. _I'm usually alright with being a bit lonely. So... why does it feel different this time? Like I'm missing something. Something important._ I rubbed my temples as a small headache formed and didn't bother lifting my head as the door opened once more.

"Nurse, could you tell me what h-happened? I can't seem to—"

"I'm not, nor will _ever_ be your... _nurse_ , Sam." A deep voice rang out.

One that I instantly recognized that made my head snap up and my eyes widen as I took in Sherlock and John's figures in front of the door to my hospital room. Immediately, I remembered what happened as quick flashes flickered through my head. Fighting with Bobbie, the explosion, Moriarty, the torture, the mistake, the lies, the pool, the bomb, the guns, and then water. So much water. My throat immediately closed up and I struggled to breathe once more as John hurried over and placed a hand on my back, scolding Sherlock.

"Sherlock! We can't be stressing her out right now! She's still recovering!" He then spoke quietly to me as I reached a hand up to my throat in a panic. "Sam. Sam, you need to calm down. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out."

I followed his instructions and soon calmed down, just as the nurse came back in and frowned at my state; pale skinned, shaking slightly, and obviously just getting over yet another panic attack.

"You two!" She scolded as well. "No stressing out the patients or I _will_ kick you out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please, my brother practically _owns_ this hospital. You _can't_ kick me out."

She gave him a _very_ stern look. "Watch me, sonny."

Sherlock turned to her in surprise, blinking in shock that she would say that after what he'd just said, but John didn't notice as he profusely apologized to the woman, who passed me the cup of water she'd gotten me.

"I'm _really_ sorry. We don't even know what triggered it, honest."

"So long as it doesn't happen again." The nurse said, but already, the heart monitor was speeding up; my eyes locked on the water in the cup I'd been handed.

"Sam? Sam, what is it?" John asked, but I couldn't speak; my hand just shaking as the cup splashed out water onto me and the blankets.

Surprisingly, Sherlock came over and snatched the cup out of my hands and placed it on a table out of my sight as I tried once more to control my breathing.

"It's the water." He said, speaking to John and the nurse. "It has apparently become an extreme phobia of hers and is causing her to panic and possibly relive her experience at the pool. Get her juice."

The nurse nodded and hurried off to do so as I brought a hand to my head shakily.

"S-Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Sam." John comforted me. "Really. There's nothing to apologize for."

"Except lying, getting kidnapped, withholding important information from us, and conspiring with a criminal." Sherlock rattled off and I immediately snapped my head up.

"No! I-I wasn't working with him! Honest!"

There was a sharp pain in my shoulder and I immediately cringed, bringing an arm to it as John scolded Sherlock once more.

"Sherlock! What did I say?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as the nurse from before came in and handed me some apple juice in a small paper cup, which I gratefully took as she looked between John and Sherlock with a frown.

"Now, I'm going to go tend to my other patients and I _better_ not hear her EKG go off like that again, understand?"

Sherlock let out a huff as John nodded and the nurse left, leaving me with them as I attempted to explain and keep myself calm.

"I-I'm not working with him. He kidnapped me, tortured me, _shot_ me." I shivered, forcing myself to take deep breaths and not focus on the memory of what had happened.

"Because you didn't do your _job_ correctly."

"That's not true!" I said loudly. "How can you believe him over me?! Criminals _lie_!"

"So you admit you're a criminal." He said smugly and I furrowed my brows in confusion before my addled brain saw what he did and I shook my head, before gripping it with my hands.

"No. No! Stop twisting my words around! It's not like that!"

"Sherlock, just give her a chance!" John said angrily, but Sherlock wasn't backing down.

Not this time.

"This _is_ her chance, John. Because if she doesn't explain this, then she's going to _prison_."

John went quiet at that and I looked at him, hoping that at least _he'd_ believe me, but he looked away; making my heart ache at the realization that Moriarty was right. They wouldn't believe me over him. I'm just a kid. A brat they hardly knew who was keeping secrets. All of the evidence was pointing at me working with him and even if it wasn't true, they'd follow the evidence like they should. There weren't many choices for me at that point. I couldn't lie, not to Sherlock. I could stay silent, keep my foreknowledge to myself. If I did that though, I'd go to prison. My life would be ruined. I could die, which—with Moriarty's connections—is probably what _would_ happen. But Sherlock and John would be safe. Everything would go on as it should, but I'd be forgotten. I'd be despised by my biggest hero and would die in disgrace.

The other option was to tell them. Give up the secret, put them in danger. They might question me about future events. Sherlock might start looking to me for answers or would take note on the little ticks I have, thus giving him hints on when something was going to happen. He could hear things from me that I could have figured out myself, but not believe that it was actually _me_. He could think everything I said was something I'd seen on the show. I wouldn't be able to impress him with my own knowledge, because to him, it'd all be scripted. Not only that, but then they'd be in danger. The plot could change if I let something slip. _They_ could get tortured by Moriarty for answers. But I'd be alive. I might still be able to work with them on cases even. And most of all, I'd have a chance at regaining that trust with them. They might believe me the next time something like this happens. But there was also the chance that they'd blame me for bad events. Things I could've stopped, people I could've saved. Soo Lin Yao still haunted me, but they didn't know that. And how many more lives would be placed on my head if they knew?

That was my choice. That was the decision I had to make. My life a ruined disgrace but their safety, or placing them in danger, regaining their trust, and having all that weight on my shoulders. And I realized then, that I _was_ a kid. I was a child making a grown up decision on my own that would affect the rest of my life. And suddenly, I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be in some television show plotline. I just wanted to go to boring school, study, get a boring job, get married, have kids, grow old, retire and die. But somewhere deep down, I knew I would hate that, so I had to figure this out. Here and now, I had to choose how the rest of my life will be lived from this point on. Whether I will risk everything for their safety or lose everything for their trust.

 _W-What do I do? What do I do? I-I just want them safe._ I felt tears welling up and I quickly hid my face from Sherlock, but he already knew and let out an annoyed sigh. I bit down on my bottom lip as I tried, but failed, to hold back a sniffle.

"I-I just want you safe." I cried, pulling at my short hair as I pulled my knees up to hide my face. "I-I just don't want you t-to get hurt. A-And I don't want you to hate me."

"Sam, we don't hate you." John said, placing a hand on my back. "And whatever it is, we'll be fine. We can take pretty good care of ourselves."

I shook my head, burying it further into my legs. "Y-You don't understand. H-How am I supposed to choose? I-If I tell you, you'll get angry, if I _don't_ , you'll get angry. If I tell you, you could get hurt, if I _don't_ I-I'll lose everything. I-I don't know what to do. I just… I d-don't know."

I started to panic again, feeling my head being dunked underwater as I was asked again and again what I knew. The pressure was suffocating, and I could hear John trying to get me to calm down, but Sherlock didn't say a word. He didn't help me or anything. He just stood there and watched as I slipped further and further with each gasp of air until the nurse came in and kicked them both out, before there was a sharp pinch in my arm and everything started to slow down. The nurse uncurled me and said something, but her words were slurred and echoed in my mind as she laid me down and tucked me into bed and everything started getting dark. But I didn't want to go back into the dark. I knew what laid there. I knew what monsters were waiting for me in the dark and I didn't want to go. Because now... I feared Sherlock too, waited in the shadows.

* * *

Sherlock frowned, hands steepled under his chin in thought as John sat heavily in his chair across from him and read the same page in the newspaper for the fourth time.

"Why?" He said suddenly, making John fold his paper to look over it at him, brow raised in confusion.

"Why, what?"

Sherlock dropped his hands onto the arm of his chair, drumming them impatiently. "Why is she so adamant about not telling the truth? I highly doubt she _wants_ to go to prison, but she continues to remain silent. Why?"

"Um, Sherlock? She _did_ say that she wanted to keep us safe. It's possible that whatever information she has, could send dangerous people after us."

"Yet she insisted that wasn't the case." Sherlock argued. "And what information could she have gotten from someone that would explain this apparent foreknowledge of events? I am not so idiotic as to believe she could have powers of the supernatural. All other options must be canceled out before that one is even _considered_. But whatever the reason, why would Moriarty go through all of this trouble if she was just a pawn to him? It doesn't make any sense."

John's eyes widened. "You mean, you don't think she works for him?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Hardly. She claims to be staying silent for our sakes, does she not? To work with someone so closely attached to the enemy is an idiotic move that only an amateur would use and Moriarty is no amateur."

John shook his head, confused. "No, hold on. I don't understand. _Why_ is it an amateur move?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. " _Because_ , John. Using that sort of angle only works up to a point. One might be able to manipulate that person into doing their bidding for a while by threatening the enemy that they care for. But sooner or later, the pawn won't do it anymore because their death will seem insignificant to the safety of the enemy."

John just stared in blatant shock for a moment, before getting his voice back. "You… How is it possible that you can figure this out, but the concept of human emotion bypasses you entirely?"

Sherlock ignored him. "The point is, John, that Sam can't be used as a serious pawn in this game. Us in danger or otherwise. So why was Moriarty so intent on taking her and turning us against each other?"

"Uh, because she knows something he doesn't?" John guessed and Sherlock pointed at him with a nod of his head.

"Exactly. She has information that is vital to us and to him. _That's_ why he took her and tortured her. He wanted that information, but she wouldn't give it to him. And I have no doubt in my mind that whatever information it is, it has to do with us. Otherwise she wouldn't have been so stubborn in not giving him it."

"But if she's not working for him, and you _knew_ that, then why have you been telling her the opposite?" John asked, frowning slightly.

"Because it's a race. A race against time, against Moriarty. We need to know what she knows and with her infatuation towards us, threatening that would have been the quickest way possible of getting her to open up to us." Sherlock replied, bluntly, making John's mouth drop open in shock.

"Y-You said that, just to get _information_?! Sherlock! She's our _friend_! Our friend who just got tortured for that information! And you're sitting here putting her through even _more_ torture?!"

Sherlock glared at John, surprising him. "Do you think that I do not care about her safety? She is the one in the most danger because of this, John. _Her_. Not us. Whatever information she is holding, it is dangerous and if put into the wrong hands, could be devastating. Moriarty will not be the only one going after her if word gets out about this. So I am doing my best to extract that information from her as quickly as possible in order to have some of the negative attention focused on me. Knowing what it is that she knows, will give me a better chance to protect her. But if she insists on keeping it to herself, then we are at a loss."

John, surprised at this sudden concern from Sherlock, took a second before collecting himself and speaking up once more. "Then why don't you just tell her that? I mean, sending her into a panic attack doesn't exactly seem like the best way to go about things and if you just open up a bit, I'm sure she'll—"

"She'll what, John?" Sherlock snipped, getting frustrated. "What I had been doing was the best possible option of getting her to confess, and she _still_ wouldn't concede. And you think simple _honesty_ would get her to answer?" He scoffed. "Only an idiot would..."

He trailed off then, eyes widening as a thought came to mind and John watched him with thinly-veiled curiosity and slight concern for Sam.

"Oh… Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Think of what?" John asked, Sherlock getting up and John scrambling after him as he grabbed his coat and rushed down the stairs. "Sherlock? What didn't you think of?" He called out after him and Sherlock hailed a cab before turning to him with a smug smirk.

"Infatuation."

* * *

I had woken up with a start in the middle of the night after I'd been sedated earlier and hadn't gone back to sleep since. I was exhausted, but anything was better than going to sleep and seeing Sherlock there angry with me, turning his back on me as Moriarty chuckled in the background. A shiver went down my spine at the thought, my EKG spiking for a moment before I took a deep breath and calmed down. I knew I shouldn't be panicking like I had been, especially when Sherlock comes back around; which I knew he would. The thought scared me, not wanting to be questioned again or have yet another panic attack as I struggled with what had happened with Moriarty, but I knew he wouldn't let this go so easily and I wouldn't be surprised if he sent me off to prison with Lestrade the second I was able to be released from the hospital.

I curled up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest and ignoring the ache in my shoulder as I pressed my forehead to my knees and took a deep stuttering breath. I'd become paranoid and kept jumping every time I heard the door open, be it the nurse or my new psychiatrist or the physical therapist who would be helping me regain strength in my arm. Every time I thought it would be Sherlock or the police and I could feel it wearing down on my mind. I did what I could to push through it though, silently wondering if my brothers knew I was in the hospital and what they would think if they saw the state I was in. _They'd probably maim Sherlock before Mycroft threw them in prison._ I tried to laugh, but it came out as this strangled choking noise, which made me curl up further into myself before I flinched at the sound of the door opening.

I didn't want to look up. Fearing the worst. So I didn't move. I didn't speak. I didn't make a sound in the hopes that whoever it was wouldn't see me; though I knew it wouldn't work, what with me being the only thing of interest in the room. Two sets of footsteps approached and I felt my breath hitch, waiting for Lestrade to apologize and ask me to place my hands behind my back so he could escort me to prison. My EKG gave away the rabid beating of my heart and I cursed the device for giving my fear away so easily.

"Sam."

 _Oh, no. Here it comes._ I mentally panicked upon hearing Sherlock's voice, waiting for those fated words that would end my life as it was.

"Sam, look at me."

I swallowed thickly, forcing myself to stay strong and at least face Sherlock in our last moments, but the expression on his face had me suddenly confused.

"I'm sorry."

 _Say what now?_ I didn't say a word as he looked away almost _sheepishly_ , rubbing the back of his neck.

"John explained that I may have been too harsh in my questioning after what you'd gone through and… he was right. So I apologize for upsetting you and… Well, I don't wish to inform Lestrade of what occurred at the pool. You're a… good friend and I wouldn't want you to go through that on top of everything else." He said, reaching over and placing his hand on top of mine as he looked at me with serious eyes. "I really do like you, Sam, and you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I was simply concerned for your safety. So please forgive my rude actions earlier."

I didn't know what to do. Sherlock, _the_ Sherlock Holmes, was _apologizing_? Not only that, but he was allowing the mystery of my secret to get away because he… _cared_ about my safety? Nothing was making sense. The man who abhorred physical touch was holding my hand. The man who would give up eating for a case, was letting me go and staying silent despite his previous interrogation. And when I looked at those blue-grey eyes of his, I almost _wanted_ to tell him everything. Tell him that this was all a TV show to me. That I knew everything that happened between now and the many adventures he'd go on to later. But it was that feeling that immediately set off warning bells in my mind, and made my chest burn with anger towards the man in front of me. Because I knew what he was up to, and I wasn't falling for it. In fact, I was downright pissed that he assumed I would, and grit my teeth together angrily.

"Let. Me. Go."

He furrowed his brows, confused, and opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off as I yanked my hand from his and glared at him.

"You actually thought you could do that to me?" I snapped, making him frown, though he was still putting on the act.

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"You know what I'm talking about. This! Apologizing? Pretending that you _care_ for me as a friend? I'm not stupid, Sherlock. Morphine or not, I know better than to fall for this. A-And for you to assume I would… I just..." My voice cracked and I turned away, pointing a finger to the door. "Get out."

"Sam, I honestly don't know what you're accusing me of. I really do—"

"No, you don't!" I shouted back, tears in my eyes because the words I was saying hurt; as true as they were. "I know you don't! You could never care for me like that! I'm just some slightly clever kid you let follow you around on cases because I interested you! And now that I have something you want to know, you thought you could use whatever feelings I have towards you and twist me around into giving you what you want, but I won't! Because I know better than to get my hopes up for something like that… I know that I'll never get respect from Sherlock Holmes, because I don't deserve it."

He hesitated, making to reach for me again, but pulling his hand back before slowly heading to the door. It shut with a slam and I flinched at the sound, tears spilling down my cheeks as I wiped at them in frustration. The door opened again though and I snapped at the person who walked in.

"I told you to get out. Go away, Sherlock."

"Sam?"

I looked up to see a concerned John standing there, looking between me and Sherlock probably storming away down the hall.

"Are you okay?" He asked instead, closing the door and moving to a chair by my bedside. "Did Sherlock say something?"

 _John… O-Oh, John._ I shook my head, reaching back and gripping the short hair at the back of my neck as I sobbed into my knees.

"I-I just want you both _safe_." I breathed out, flinching when John lightly placed a hand on my back. "Why can't h-he just leave it at that? Why does he have to… to try and hurt me like this? I hate it. I-I hate not being able to say anything. A-And I hate him for doing what he did. I-Is that really all I am to him? J-Just some puzzle he can rip apart and leave scattered around once he's done with it?"

"Sam, I… I know it may not seem like it, and I don't know what Sherlock just tried to do, but he really _does_ care about you. He wants you _safe_. And if you share that information with us—"

"Then you'll be in danger!" I argued, lifting my head and looking at John with teary eyes, desperately trying to get him to understand. "I don't want you two hurt, John!"

"And you'll be hurting _us_ if you get hurt because you stayed quiet, Sam." He said sternly and I flinched, turning away from him sheepishly.

"It doesn't matter." I finally muttered after a moment, tucking my chin down between my knees as I hugged them to my chest. "I'm just a student. Compared to Sherlock, I'm not worth—"

"No, Sam!" John shouted, slamming his hands down and standing, making me jump away from him fearfully at the sudden expression of anger. "You are worth just as much as he is! You are _important_ to us, Sam! Why can't you see that?!"

I couldn't hold back the slight whimper that escaped my lips, John's angry expression mixing with Moriarty's for a split second, before John edged away with a sorrowful look.

"I'm sorry…" He murmured quietly, turning away and heading towards the door. "I'm sorry, Sam, but you're important. To me, to Sherlock… And Sherlock, he just…" John sighed and shook his head, pausing at the open door. "He wants to know what you do so he can _protect_ you. I've never seen him care this much… for _anyone_. And if he loses you… I would hate to think of what would happen. Goodbye, Sam."

John left and I stared at the door for a moment longer before turning my eyes to my quivering hands. _What do I do?_

* * *

Days turned into weeks and yet Sherlock had yet to visit Sam again after their little tiff. He just couldn't understand it. He'd attempted time and time again to get her to just _admit_ to whatever it was she knew so he could help her. Every human being had this underlying need to feel safe and secure, to the want to live. Yet she was throwing hers aside for what? To help him and John, who were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves? It didn't make sense to him. That, and wouldn't her undying need to keep them safe prove she was infatuated with them? At least one of them, anyway. And he had assumed it was himself. He'd seen the subtle glances she tossed in his direction when she believed him to not be looking. Perhaps he'd been wrong though. Perhaps it was John she was infatuated with. Yet that didn't make sense either. Not long after he'd left her hospital room, John had followed, equally annoyed with the young woman as he'd been. They'd fought as well.

Her health was improving too, so Sherlock would have to make a move in either case. Be it to send her to prison or somehow convince her yet again, that she needed to inform him about what she knew to keep her safe. The whole situation though, was stirring something in him that frustrated him beyond belief. Couldn't she see he was trying to help her? Yet she very nearly _insisted_ on being thrown into prison and thus killed for her silence. In what world did that make any sense? Self-preservation should be the first thing on her mind, and yet she was more willing to be killed by one of Moriarty's goons in prison than say a few words that may assist Sherlock and John. And he had considered what John had told him before. Whatever information she was withholding could be more dangerous than her life was worth, however he highly doubted it. It was something Sam herself believed though, as her words his previous visit had informed him.

" _I know that I'll never get respect from Sherlock Holmes, because I don't deserve it."_

She had issues with her appearance itself, something he'd quickly caught onto with her nervous ticks, such as bouncing her knee or picking at scabs and her fingers. She had social anxiety and issues viewing herself in a positive manner, but what person didn't? He himself had similar issues in school and at home with his own brother degrading him, though that was more due to his level of intelligence than Sam's overall insecurity. But he could see more in her than she believed. He could see her becoming great. Perhaps as great as himself, yet she was shrinking back away from that with this act of hers and it frustrated and angered him to no end. As it was, he was having a hard time focusing on cases. Though a man claiming to know the difference between human ashes and a couple of girls not understanding what happens to a relative when they die is not his ideal set of cases to begin with. Sam's case simply proved to be of more value, and thus a better distraction for other urges of his to cause household destruction. John didn't seem to mind the lack of excess body parts in the fridge or the missing occasional extra gunshots, but Sherlock as getting more tense every day as long as that question swum in his mind. _Why did Sam get so upset with him when he was only trying to help?_ _She was infatuated with him, was she not? So why didn't his attempt at appealing to that need get a confession?_

"Probably because she's _not_ infatuated with you." John said, turning a page in the paper he was reading as Sherlock scowled; believing John to have intruded on his thoughts and not that he'd unconsciously spoken out loud.

"What do you mean? Of _course_ she's infatuated. The level of eye contact, the need for close contact, and her pupil dilation all point to—"

"Yes, well, that may be so, but she doesn't like you in that sense, Sherlock. She doesn't see you as a… maturing woman would, but more like a… teacher. A good friend or a professor of sorts." John replied, clarifying himself upon seeing Sherlock's confusion. "She _respects_ you, Sherlock. She sees you as a figure to look up to. Not in a romantic way—or, not yet, anyway—but in a way more like that of a student attempting to learn and rise up to the level of their greatest hero."

"I'm not a hero, John." Sherlock scoffed, folding his arms over his chest with a huff.

"Well, perhaps not, but to her, you are. You're someone she aspires to be like, so it's no wonder she got upset with whatever trick you pulled at the hospital a few weeks ago."

"You upset her as well." Sherlock childishly spat back.

John sighed, putting down his paper and looking a little sheepish. "Yes, but that was because I lost my temper in my frustration with her."

"You haven't gone back."

"No, but neither have you."

Sherlock frowned, drumming his fingers on his arm before abruptly getting up and stalking over to his violin. "I see no need to return to her bedside. If she wishes to go off and die in prison, then so be it."

He played a few screeching notes and John winced, rubbing at his temples.

"You don't really mean that."

That angered Sherlock, and he thrust down his instrument.

"Then what _do_ I mean, John?! We have absolutely no way of convincing her to indulge in our whims, so why not just let her rot?!"

"Because she's our friend." John replied simply, and Sherlock's anger fizzled down to a dull roar as he set his violin aside and moved to where his coat was.

"And what friend is insistent on getting herself killed without thinking about the consequences of her actions?" He snapped, pulling on the coat sharply.

"The kind who has a heart too big for her own good." John answered him, getting up and pulling on his coat as well. "Are we going to go see her?"

"Someone has to stop her before she willingly throws her life away." Sherlock grumbled in complaint, though John couldn't help the small smile on his face as they headed downstairs and called up a cab.

Upon arriving, however, the two paused with confused expressions as nurses and doctors rushed around in a panic. Sherlock easily grabbed a fleeing nurse and pulled her to a stop.

"What's going on?"

"N-Nothing! W-We just, uh—"

John took control of the situation then, hoping to get a better response from the woman without Sherlock's angered expression.

"We're with the police. Maybe we could help." He bluffed and the nurse glanced around before lowering her voice to keep the other people around them from hearing.

"W-We can't seem to find one of our patients. She was there when we passed out lunch, but when her physical therapist went for their appointment, she was missing."

John exchanged a look with Sherlock, whose eyes went cold.

"Who _exactly_ is missing?"

"U-Um, Miss Foxe. Sam Foxe."

Sherlock cursed sharply under his breath, pulling out his phone and dialing up a number as John paled and pulled a hand through his hair; the nurse looking between them even more confused than before.

"Lestrade, I need you to gather up some people and meet us at St. Barts now." Sherlock snapped out as John went to ask the nurse if there was anything else she could tell them; the trio heading up to her room to search for clues as to where she went. Sherlock had hung up the phone and quickly stormed through the room, stopping and chucking a book across the room in a fit of rage not long after the nurse had left to continue the search.

"Nothing! Where could she have gone?! Doesn't she know the kind of risk she's putting herself in by doing this?!"

"Sherlock! Throwing a tantrum isn't going to help us find her!" John shouted back, just as worried as he was about her and the uselessness of this situation. "Just… Just think. You're probably the only person who can figure out where she went a-and it's not as though she's been in England for long. How hard could it be, right?"

Sherlock paused suddenly, staring outside the window with such focus that John came over to look as well.

"What?"

Sherlock turned though, abruptly walking off with his coat billowing behind him. "Tell Lestrade to call off his men."

"Did you find her?!" John asked, looking back out the window, but seeing nothing other than the shadows of the building and a few stray nurses searching the grounds, but when he turned around, there was no sign of Sherlock. "Sherlock!"

* * *

I sat on the edge of the roof, feet dangling below me as I watched the nurses and doctors running about. I hated to say it, but I honestly wasn't bothered by how frantic I was making them with my disappearing act. I was more surprised that I could sit where I was and not start crying. _This is where Sherlock jumped to save his friends. I can't help but think that if I'd met him after that, that maybe he'd understand my dilemma a bit better. Shame I'm not clever enough to fake my own death._ I sighed, eating another spoonful of the hospital's jello; the only thing worth eating from my lunch meal. That, and I'd snatched a few others from the nurse's cart before I'd snuck up here. And… I lied. I did feel a _little_ bad about the panic I'd instilled in the hospital. _I only wanted to sneak some jello and eat in peace. I didn't mean to forget my appointment… though, I don't know why I didn't come up here before._ I looked up at the cloudy England sky with a spoonful of jello hanging in my mouth. _It's almost nice to know that I'm doing something Sherlock would do by staying quiet._ I winced at the thought, remembering when Sherlock stormed out those weeks ago, enticing another sigh out of me.

When I went to scoop another bite of jello out of the container though, someone cleared their throat behind me and the red goop slipped off my spoon and down onto the pavement below when I jerked. Thankfully, not enough to topple _myself_ off the edge, though I winced and hesitantly turned before shrinking into myself at the sight of the annoyed man behind me.

"H-How'd you find me?" I questioned, grimacing at my stutter and turning away from Sherlock as he came up beside me.

His long finger moved into sight and gestured down at the grass below us. "Shadow. I saw it from your window."

Sure enough, my shadowed outline was plainly visible on the grass of the small park area at the back of the hospital. _Though if I hung out on the roof by the_ front _of the hospital, it would be more than the nurses having heart attacks._ Sherlock's hand grabbed my arm, pulling me up and making me drop my half empty container of jello onto the roof.

"Come on. John's worried." Sherlock said coldly, but I pulled away, stumbling, but catching my balance and double checking to make sure I wasn't close enough to the edge to fall.

"What if I don't want to?" I asked, Sherlock not missing the twinge of hurt in my tone, no doubt.

"Don't be stupid." He argued poorly, simply standing there and not making a move towards me; his eyes narrowed in what could only be frustration and annoyance with my childish behavior.

Of course, this only made me angrier.

"I'm not _being_ stupid!" I shouted, reaching up and gripping my short hair with a tight fist. "Why don't you understand that? I-I don't have any other choice in this. The moment he found out, the moment I slipped up, that was it. Either way, I'm dead."

He stepped forward, but I held my hand out.

"No. Stay there. Stay away."

"Sam, you're being ridiculous." He argued, still walking towards me as I took another hesitant step back. "If you just tell us—"

"Then _you're_ in danger!" I said, trying desperately to get him to understand.

"Let me help you." He pressed.

"Help me how?! There's nothing you can do!"

Suddenly, that cold expression on his face snapped and I was forced to stare in shock at what he shouted at me next.

"Dammit, Sam! I care about you and if you'd just let me help, then you'd know that!"

I opened and closed my mouth for a moment, before shaking my head, taking another step back. "N-No. No. You're faking again. You're trying to manipulate me again l-like I'm another puzzle."

He scowled at me. "And that just _proves_ that you're thinking like an idiot. Yes, you're a puzzle to me. You act like a child one minute then fight back and argue like an adult the next. You're insecure with yourself and have mysteries that even _I'm_ struggling to figure out."

"Then, why—"

"But, you're not _just_ a puzzle to me, Sam." He cut me off. "You're my partner."

Those words shocked me to the core, freezing me where I was in stunned silence as he continued to frown.

"Now stop acting like an idiot. Jumping from this roof will solve nothing other than making a mess and upsetting a number of people. Bobbie would be furious with me if I didn't return you safely."

I stared confused, frowning slightly.

"Jump? I'm not… I wasn't…" I looked behind me at the edge of the roof that was perhaps another step or two away; pointing at it and looking back. "You thought I was going to jump?"

It was _his_ turn to look confused.

"Were you not? I had assumed with your previous moods that…" His eyes trailed down to the scattered containers of jello and then turned back to me; his lip twitching into a slight smile. "Gelatin?"

I flushed a vibrant red in embarrassment. "I-It's the only thing worth eating here!"

"And I'm to assume you simply forgot about your physical therapy appointment?" He questioned and I winced.

"H-He keeps changing it and I'm fine, really." I rolled my shoulder in a circle to prove it, cringing only slightly when I twisted it a certain way. "Nearly, anyway. I don't need a physical therapist… or a psychiatrist."

I muttered the last bit, but Sherlock must have heard me, and he raised a brow in question as I picked up my trash and headed back over towards him.

"You're fine with water then?"

I grimaced. "M-Mostly. Just keep me away from pools and other large bodies of water and… troughs or buckets."

He frowned at that last part, but didn't press further on that as he led me back into the hospital where we found John speaking with a doctor. The moment he spotted us he let out a sigh of relief and hurried over.

"Sam! Thanks goodness you're alright. What were you thinking?!"

 _And here comes the scolding._ I thought with a cringe, but Sherlock—surprisingly enough—came to my rescue.

"She simply went out for some fresh air during her lunch and the physical therapy appointment slipped her mind. She's not an idiot, John."

John frowned, knowing something was up, but after speaking briefly with the doctor to get the rest of the hospital settled down, and returning me to my room, he demanded answers.

"Alright, so what _really_ happened?" He grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

"R-Really, John. I just went up to the roof for some air." I insisted. "I haven't been allowed out of this building since I checked in."

He lightened up a bit at that before turning to Sherlock; the two having a silent conversation while I fidgeted under my covers and picked at my fingers in worry. _I managed to avoid the whole 'tell us' discussion on the roof with Sherlock, but it's been weeks since they visited and I don't doubt that they want to discuss it._ Oddly enough though, John simply nodded and headed outside, closing the door behind him and leaving Sherlock and I alone. I stiffened, unsure what was going on as Sherlock moved over to the closet and threw my clothes at me.

"Get dressed." He ordered and I looked him overcautiously, unsure what was going on.

 _Is he finally sending me to prison? But then where's Lestrade? What's going on?_ I must have hesitated a moment too long, because he turned to me in annoyance.

"The longer you sit there gapping, the more of my time you're wasting. I have an experiment I need to get back to."

I still hesitated a moment longer before slowly nodding and moving to the restroom to change. When I came out, I grimaced. These were the same clothes I'd shown up in and—though having been washed at least once—a dark stain still rested on the shoulder of the shirt as did the bullet hole. _I'll need to get rid of these. I'm crawling in my own skin already._ I shivered, but closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out and feeling slightly calmer than before even as I faced Sherlock and John; who'd returned.

"Excellent." Sherlock hummed, turning and moving towards the door. "We need to stop by the morgue. Molly should have several thumbs waiting."

I didn't move though, even John looking a bit confused as to what was going on and Sherlock turned around with a scowl on his face.

"Well, come on!"

I shook my head, taking a step back. "I-I don't understand. What's going on? Am I… Am I going to prison?"

Sherlock sighed, annoyed. "Of course not. Now let's go."

"No." I argued, brows furrowed and slightly annoyed myself. "No, I want you to explain what's going on. I-I should be in prison. Y-You said so yourself, so why—"

" _Because_." Sherlock snipped shortly. "I'm not so stupid as to believe you were assisting Moriarty and so willing to be tortured due to some shortcoming or another. Hence, you've committed no criminal offence and don't need to be imprisoned."

"But I… You said I was to go to prison because I'm keeping secrets." I pushed and I flinched back when he suddenly rushed over and got in my face, looking down at me with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you so eager to condemn yourself?"

I swallowed thickly, having silently asked myself that many times in the past few weeks. So when he grabbed my face in his hands, I very nearly jumped out of my skin; his startling blue eyes gazing into mine with such fervor, I questioned how my legs were still holding me up.

"You know things. Things that can help us, or possibly harm us, but you're attempting to protect us on your own and that _infuriates_ me. However, why would I imprison you for helping? Why would I throw you to the wolves when I can very well keep an eye on you and protect you myself?"

I went to argue what was going on in that brain of his that kept making his personality change, but he released me and began to head for the door again.

"And perhaps I'll get lucky and you'll slip up and reveal something of importance." He said simply, holding open the door and raising a brow at me. "Coming?"

I hesitated again, knowing that by going with him, I'd still be endangering him, but this was a third option. This was the option I'd been missing. The one way I could be somewhat safe, keep John and Sherlock safe, and the one way I might stand a chance at living. I could still impress him. I could still watch him work, learn from him even. I could still be by his side, making sure everything goes as it should and sure, he'd be watching me more closely for slip ups, but I could still pretend. I could pretend everything was back to normal. And that was all I really wanted. So I couldn't help the smile that formed on my face as I hurried to the door and followed after him. I was back. Back with Sherlock and John. I still had a chance, and that was all that mattered to me.


	8. Chapter 8

It was strange being back at Baker Street. I was more than tense and nervous the whole trip, getting glares from Sherlock for my tapping fingers and bouncing knees. I was panicked, really, expecting Sherlock to have lied to me and myself being driven to Scotland Yard to be locked away with an 'Oops, we lied. We only said that to see if you'd tell us everything'. So when we were back up in 221B, I immediately felt my shoulders relax and a shaky sigh of relief escape my lips as I looked over the familiar skull on the mantle and the Union Jack pillow on John's chair. The two chairs themselves made me feel significantly better at the fact that I wouldn't be expected to sit in a kitchen chair before them and interrogated, I could just lie down on the couch and sleep. Of course, Sherlock must have read my mind, because he strolled into the kitchen with his bag of thumbs and called out to me over his shoulder.

"Sam, get in here. I need someone to take notes for me."

I glanced at John, but he shrugged and headed out somewhere. Dublin, I think he said. So I trailed after Sherlock and hesitantly accepted the notepad and pen he shoved my way, scribbling down in my shorthand what he was rattling off. This went on for hours; me writing down temperatures and Sherlock's observations as he went about conducting whatever experiments with the severed digits he was doing. I soon began to feel drowsy, but resisted the urged to sleep for more than one reason. For one thing, I didn't want to upset Sherlock by getting up and saying I was tired, so I was done helping him. A part of me was interested in what he was doing with the thumbs as well, but a majority of me didn't want to sleep due to the frequent nightmares I'd been suffering through since I'd been with Moriarty; much less have Sherlock or John play witness to them.

"That should be enough for today." Sherlock said suddenly, making my head snap up in slight fear as he tossed the bag into the fridge. "I'll have you take their temperatures tomorrow morning after being in the fridge."

"A-Ah. Alright." I stuttered out, setting the notepad aside begrudgingly before returning to the main room with him.

I wasn't sure what to do, settling down on the couch as Sherlock took up his chair and pulled out his violin and plucked quietly at the strings. I went to reach for my laptop in the hopes that I had some homework to do, but Sherlock interrupted me.

"I've already called your instructor. He has been kind enough to allow you a few weeks off on your assignment after I explained that you'd been slightly injured during our last escapade. You won't have any homework until next week or the week afterwards." He rattled off, not opening his eyes or stopping his soft playing.

"O-Oh…" I said, wondering if I should write something instead, but I knew I wouldn't be able to focus and would end up just staring blankly at the pages for hours; alerting Sherlock to something being wrong.

I could tell he already thought as much though, and struggled to find something other than sleeping to do. I got up and went over to the bookshelf in search of a good book to read, eventually settling on some research book Sherlock owned on criminal law. Sherlock made no outward sign of caring as I carefully pulled the book from its place, memorized where it went on the shelf, and settled back down on the couch to read. It was really quite a fascinating book—what with me studying criminology in the first place—but after a few hours of reading, I could feel my eyelids drooping again. I rubbed at my eyes tiredly, holding back the yawn that wanted to start up, only to open my eyes and see a cup of tea being held out to me. I frowned, puzzled, before looking up the arm that held it to Sherlock, who was frowning at me with his own mug.

"Take it." He demanded and I did so, enjoying the warmth of the cup, but watching Sherlock sit back in his chair cautiously.

Sherlock doesn't make tea. I knew that. Hell, John knew that and said—or _will_ say—as much at Baskerville when Sherlock drugged his tea for an experiment. The thought sent a chill up my spine as I looked down at the seemingly innocent liquid. Was he drugging me now? Because I wasn't sleeping? But why? Because he was annoyed? Or was this his way of saying he cared? I looked at the man who watched me himself over the rim of his own cup, making me wonder, when did I lose my faith in Sherlock Holmes? Did I still trust him? Everything before Moriarty said yes, but everything after said no, I didn't. And the way he watched me now, was a challenge. A question. Did I trust him enough to drink the tea that may or may not be drugged? Because he knew that I was suspicious. I didn't drink it right away like most people would. I questioned it. I questioned him and still was. And now, it was my choice. Put down the cup and show I didn't trust him, thus probably being kicked out of his inner circle of people he cared for. Or drink it—drugged or not—and trust that no matter what happened afterwards, Sherlock would be there and I would be fine.

And when I looked at this simple situation like that, I knew what I needed to do. What I _wanted_ to do. Moriarty or not, a simple cup of drugged tea or not, I wanted to trust Sherlock Holmes. So I closed my eyes with a soft sigh and raised the drink to my lips, drinking it and setting it back down on its saucer once I'd finished and turned back to the book. I didn't look at Sherlock, didn't want to see his reaction to my decision, but sure enough, not five minutes later, I could feel the heavy cloud of sleep start to weigh down on my mind. And before I could potentially topple over into the coffee table with the book, Sherlock was right there lightly pulling it from my hands and helping me lay back onto the couch.

"Mm, sorry." I murmured, voice slurred slightly as he grabbed the blanket from off the back of the couch and draped it over me. "Fur doubtin' ou."

"In a world where you can trust no one, I'm not surprised you did." He replied easily. "Now sleep, Sam. I'll be right here when you wake up."

And with those words, I allowed myself to slip into unconsciousness, feeling safe for the first time since before I'd been taken by the black snake known as Moriarty.

* * *

" _You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?_ " John's voice called out from the speaker of Sherlock's laptop as Sherlock yawned and exited the kitchen with his mug of hot coffee.

"It's okay. I'm fine and Sam's still sleeping." Sherlock said, picking up his laptop with his free hand and being sure his sheet didn't fall off. "Now, show me to the stream."

" _I didn't really mean for you. And Sam's_ still _sleeping?_ "

"Look, this is a six." Sherlock said in exasperation as he moved to the living room. "There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. And Sam had trouble sleeping last night, so I offered her an alternative."

" _You drugged her?!_ "

Sherlock rolled his eyes, glancing at the still sleeping Sam on the couch, who's brows were slightly furrowed. The drug was wearing off.

"She willingly took them, might I add. Now, go back. Show me the grass."

" _When did we agree to you not leaving for less than a seven? And might I recommend you_ not _drugging her after she's just come from the hospital?_ "

"You've seen the bags under her eyes, John. You would have recommended the same. She would have been up all night anyway." Sherlock drawled. "And we agreed to it yesterday. Stop!... Closer."

John swung his own laptop away from the mud and towards himself with a frown. " _I wasn't even home yesterday. I was in Dublin._ "

"Well, it's hardly _my_ fault you weren't listening." Sherlock responded, not really listening himself when the doorbell rang and he turned briefly to see if it'd woken up Sam before shouting downstairs. "Shut up!"

" _Do you just carry on talking while I'm away?_ "

"I don't know. How often are you away?" Sherlock questioned. "And Sam was here. Now, show me the car that backfired."

John aimed the camera up to show the road yards away. " _It's there._ "

There was a gasp from the couch and Sherlock turned towards Sam, who looked more than frazzled at whatever nightmare she'd been having. Knowing she would be ashamed, he turned away and spoke to her from over his shoulder.

"Go ahead and shower, Sam. You can borrow some of my shirts and trousers until Bobby drops by with your things later."

"R-R-Right." She stuttered out, making Sherlock briefly glance at her with a frown as she stumbled into the restroom.

 _Must have been a fairly bad one then._ He mused, before turning his attention back to the laptop as the shower began running.

"That's the one that made the noise, yes?"

John swung the camera back to him. " _Yeah. And if you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one. He wasn't shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer. That's gotta be an eight at least… And how's Sam doing? That was her, wasn't it?_ "

"Nightmare." Sherlock grumbled. "She's shaken, but I sent her to shower and change, so that should… assist in relaxing her enough to be competent."

John sighed. " _And you still claim not to care for her even though you've already made her tea_ and _seem to know how to comfort her._ "

"Please." Sherlock drawled, annoyed. "It is scientifically proven that hot water eases tension in the muscles and gives your body the chance to release chemicals known to—"

The detective on scene cut in then, speaking to Sherlock from over John's shoulder. " _Look, you two can talk about your girlfriend later. You've got two more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver._ "

Sherlock scowled. "She's _not_ my girlfriend. She's a college student assisting us with cases to further her education on criminology. And forget about the driver. He's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"

"I _think he's a suspect!_ " The detective shouted angrily.

Sherlock leaned forward angrily as he snarled to John. "Pass me over."

" _Alright, but there's a 'mute' button and I_ will _use it._ "

John passed the laptop over, irritating Sherlock with the angle before shoving the device into the detective's hands and walking away as Sherlock went off in one of his rapid-fire rants.

"Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?" Sherlock scoffed.

" _He's trying to be clever. It's over-confidence_."

"Did you _see_ him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy—and you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?!" Sherlock turned then, to the man he'd nearly forgotten about in John's chair behind him. "Don't worry. This is just stupid."

"What did you say? Heart what?" The man squeaked out, pale as a ghost as Sherlock ignored him.

"Go to the stream."

" _What's in the stream?_ "

"Go and see."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson scolded, entering the room with two suited men standing behind her. "You weren't answering your doorbell!"

One of the men tossed a thumb over his shoulder. "His room's in the back, get him some clothes."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock scowled.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes, you're coming with us." The man closed Sherlock's laptop, cutting off John's shout just as there was another one from upstairs and the other suited man came tumbling down them with a groan of pain and a rather large bruise forming on his face.

Sherlock hadn't noticed when the shower had stopped going, nor when Sam had stepped out and into his bedroom for some clothes. Though, he couldn't help but smile as Sam hurried down the stairs with her eyes wide in panic and bruised knuckles; wearing nothing more than one of his shirts.

"S-Sherlock? What's going on?"

"Well, I was hoping you could tell me." He grinned and Sam looked between the man on the floor she'd just hit and the other standing there in barely subdued shock as realization dawned on her.

"Oh, dear God. I'm going to kill him."

Sherlock chuckled as the other man went over and began handcuffing Sam to prevent any more injuries to his staff. "He'll surely be amused when you tell him that."

Sam glared at him as she was shoved into a chair and the man roused his partner before getting him to retrieve some clothes for Sherlock and Sam's dirty pants.

"Please, Mr. Holmes... Miss Foxe. Where you're going, you'll want to be dressed."

Sherlock easily deduced the man as Sam had moments before and smiled smugly. "Oh, I know _exactly_ where we're going." He got up and tugged Sam up as well with a smile. "Shall we?"

* * *

I couldn't believe him. Hell, I couldn't believe myself! I'd punched one of Mycroft's men, knocked him down the stairs, and now sat in only one of Sherlock's shirts, clean boxer shorts, and handcuffs in the _Buckingham_ _Palace_ —not my decision, mind you, but I couldn't exactly go without _anything_ underneath until I got my pants and they'd yet to deem me unthreatening enough to remove the cuffs. It was bad enough that I'd woken up from a nightmare in front of Sherlock and some stranger that I idly connected to the beginning of Sherlock's dealing with Irene Adler, but I had meant it when I said I was going to kill Mycroft for putting me in this position. And if I wasn't significantly embarrassed before, John stopping in the doorway and giving us both disbelieving looks, surely turned me about as red as I could get. John held his hands out and Sherlock shrugged as I ducked my head even lower and John headed over to join us on the couch.

We were all silent, John looking around curiously before laying his eyes on Sherlock in his sheet and raising a brow, up until he spotted me and turned a small shade of pink himself.

"Ah, are either of you wearing pants?"

"No." Sherlock replied as I fidgeted, only for Sherlock to frown at me and make me stop.

"Okay." John said, before leaning forward a bit to look at me. "Are you, um… Are you wearing Sherlock's shirt?"

"H-He told me to borrow some until Bobby could stop by with my clothes." I answered with a stutter that Sherlock rolled his eyes at. "Never mind the handcuffs. I punched one of the guys."

"She's also wearing a clean set of my… _pants_ , which I don't remember giving you permission to wear." Sherlock lightly scolded and I turned a vibrant shade of red.

"Y-Y-You said anything I might need! I wasn't going to just walk around with nothing on underneath until I could come back downstairs a-and grab my own things." I argued, only to see a small smile on his face that quickly turned into a grin as John snorted and begun to laugh.

Sherlock soon joined in with the giggles and I couldn't help a small chuckle myself, feeling relieved that we could still banter like this as though I'd never been taken by Moriarty. Which was a great deal of weight off my shoulders.

"At Buckingham Palace." John said, trying to stifle his laughter. "Oh, I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray."

We all chuckled.

"What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?" John finally managed to ask, the lot of us still smiling.

"I don't know."

"Here to see the Queen?" John offered, just as Mycroft walked in and Sherlock grinned.

"Oh, apparently, yes."

 _That_ threw us all back into our little fit of giggles as Mycroft looked at us like he was the annoyed mother dealing with three frustrating, irresponsible school children.

"Just once, can you three behave like grown-ups?"

"We solve crimes. I blog about it. He forgets his pants, and Sam is a college student wearing Sherlock's clothes. So I wouldn't hold out too much hope."

Sherlock was all seriousness again though and frowned at his brother. "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

"What? The hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?" Mycroft commented.

"Transparent."

John looked surprised and glanced at me, but I shrugged innocently, until Mycroft's gaze landed on me and made my blood run cold.

"Or are we speaking about Sam's little case here?"

Sherlock frowned as I shrank back in my seat, wondering how much Mycroft knew about what happened down at the pool and if he didn't trust me either.

"Hardly a case. He tried to trick us into thinking she was an asset of his, and she's not. Case closed." Sherlock defended me, making me look up in a bit of surprise. "Though, you knew that, otherwise she wouldn't be here with us."

 _With us in this room? Or with us as in…_ I didn't wish to think about that, and pushed the thought aside as Mycroft hummed.

"Yes, well, I still do not appreciate her damages to my employee."

I frowned at that, annoyed. "And I don't appreciate him walking in on me as I was changing, thanks."

John sputtered in shock whereas Sherlock simply grinned smugly at his brother and I rubbed my bruised knuckles with a small grimace as Mycroft smiled tensely.

"I will surely have to educate them on knocking first then. Apologies."

His apology made me angry as well—him gesturing for a guard to remove the cuffs—and I folded my arms over my chest with a scowl once I was freed.

"You're worse than Sherlock."

"Excuse me?"

"If you're going to apologize like a half-hearted jerk, then you might as well not even apologize in the first place."

He stared at me for a while, eyes narrowed, before he finally shrugged and closed his eyes. "Very well. I retract my apology. Now, if that is all, I think it's about time to move on." Mycroft said, reaching over to pick up the clothing on the table and hold it out to us both. "We are in Buckingham Palace. The very _heart_ of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on. You as well, Sam."

Sherlock shrugged smugly. "What for?"

"Your client."

Sherlock stood. "And my client is?"

"Illustrious..." A new voice spoke as a man wandered into the room. "…in the extreme."

John stood up as well, in respect more than anything I guessed, though I remained seated and looked between everyone to see how this would turn out. _Though perhaps I should stand and move around to the back of the couch. As embarrassing as it is to admit, a momentary glimpse of one Sherlock Holmes's backside would be something I can hold over his head for a while. Purely for enjoyment's sake, of course. God, does that make me a perv?... Probably._ I blinked, noticing that the man had already shaken Mycroft's hand and had moved over to shake John's.

"And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello, yes." John said, smiling a bit and making me smile as well.

 _Oh, John. Always likes his old army title being tossed out there._

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?" John said, looking surprised and vaguely curious.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch."

"Thank you." John said eagerly, even _he_ able to tell that whoever this mysterious—not so much to me—employer was, their praise was noteworthy.

"And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs." The man mused, though Sherlock paid it no mind.

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." Sherlock teased, before eyes were trained on my person, making me tense; though Sherlock's calm gaze on me helped relax my muscles slightly.

"Though I'm not quite sure who you are, miss?"

"Foxe." I muttered, clearing my throat and gaining a bit of confidence as I forced my shaky legs to help me stand and held out a hand to shake the man's. "Sam Foxe. I'm just assisting."

"I see." The man said, eyes narrowing at me briefly, though the annoyance I felt at the demeaning gaze made me try to appear bigger than I was; much like a bird with ruffled feathers.

He glanced at Mycroft, who took some sort of amusement in the look as he responded.

"She's trustworthy, Harry. She's the one I told you about."

"Ah, with the rather hard right hook." The man smiled, looking at me cautiously. "Apologies."

I felt a little pride in knowing that I'd gained some form of respect from the man, though Sherlock was quick to change the topic.

"Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work." He rattled on, moving past John and I to leave, before looking back once at Harry. "Good morning."

Before he could fully leave though, Mycroft stepped on his sheet and I grinned a bit at having leaned back and caught sight of something I'd not had the chance of seeing in the show; Sherlock barely catching the sheet and the tips of his ears going red from just below his curls.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up." Mycroft snapped.

"Get off my _sheet_!" Sherlock bit out through grit teeth.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you." Mycroft pressed. "I'm sure Sam would much enjoy the view."

"H-Hey." I complained meekly, face turning a nice pink.

"Boys, please. Not here." John chided lightly, though Sherlock was still furious.

"Who. Is. My. _Client_?"

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Even Sam has figured that out! Now, for _God's sake_ …" Mycroft paused, trying to keep some sense of dignity and reign in his temper. "…put your clothes on."

I sighed softly and grabbed my clothes and Sherlock's, walking over and passing him his things; holding them out and whispering quietly.

"I've snuck in a pack, if you want one later, but best do as he says."

"And why should I listen to you?" He snipped, making me wince though I knew it was just him lashing out.

"Because I know what we're going to be asked, and I know that you'll enjoy it." _At least, for a while, anyway._ "It'll be fun?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before suddenly snatching the clothes from me and storming off. I fidgeted in place for a moment, before leaving the room as well, allowing a guard to show me where I could change and hoping that Sherlock's mood improved later. _It's hard to deal with him like this. Especially in light of things. I can't help but think that he's still angry with me._

* * *

"I'll be mother." Mycroft said with a terse smile, pouring the tea now that Sam and Sherlock had returned in some form of dress.

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock quipped, making Mycroft scowl at him before he returned to his seat and the representative of the employer spoke.

"My employer has a problem."

Sam muttered a small 'duh' under her breath, earning an amused glance from Sherlock and less of one from Mycroft.

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen."

"Why?" Sherlock questioned bluntly. "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?" The man beside Mycroft replied.

"Not to date, anyone with a Navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore, of trust." Mycroft implored.

"You don't trust your own Secret Service?" John questioned.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money."

John bit back a smile at that, but Sam hesitantly raised her hand.

"T-Then why me?"

John's smile slipped into a sad and concerned one at her question, and Sherlock frowned as Mycroft smirked slightly.

"Because if you so much as move an _inch_ out of line and bring harm to my brother or this country, then you can be sure that the appropriate action will be taken to deal with the issue and the person responsible for it."

Sam sunk back in the couch a bit as Sherlock bristled, and Mycroft's eyes moved to him.

"Though I do marginally trust in my brother's judgement of those he chooses to bring into his inner circle. However, any actions you may take will also reflect on him, so do take care." Mycroft smiled innocently, though that did little to ease the obvious tension in the room.

"I do think we have a timetable." The client interrupted then and Mycroft nodded.

"Yes, of course." He said, pulling out a briefcase and passing a photo to Sherlock.

"What do you know about this woman?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

"Then you should be paying more attention." Mycroft quipped. "She's been at the center of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?" Sherlock pressed.

"Sam?" Mycroft lightly questioned, turning to the young woman who now held the photograph.

"Irene Adler." She supplied, making John turn to her in surprise.

Neither him not Sherlock expected her to give in and just hand out information after what had happened in the hospital.

"She's known as 'The Woman' and she's a… dominatrix."

"Dominatrix." Sherlock mused thoughtfully as Sam set the photo down on the table between them.

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex." Mycroft teased and Sherlock gave him an annoyed look.

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

"How would you know?" Mycroft scoffed, though he didn't miss the concerned look Sam shot Sherlock as he continued. "She provides—shall we say—recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website."

He handed out more photos that Sherlock briefly skimmed through.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs."

"You are very quick, Mr. Holmes."

"Not a hard leap." Sam muttered, earning an annoyed look from Mycroft, though Sherlock was quick to come to her defense.

"She's right. Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

"A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

"You can't tell us anything?" John questioned in disbelief and Mycroft indulged him.

"I can tell you it's a young person. A young _female_ person."

John nearly choked on his tea as Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sam.

"And if you know anything, then I expect you will remain silent to any and _all_ inquirers of this information."

"Yes…" Sam replied softly and Sherlock drew attention to himself once more.

"How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?" He pressed, more to annoy his brother and make the client squirm now, than for actual information.

"Yes, they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios."

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

Sam lightly reached over and pushed John's hand down, lowering his cup and saucer until the man got ahold of himself enough to set it down himself, before he spilled it.

"Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?" The client asked.

"How?"

"Will you take the case?"

"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'Know when you are beaten.'" Sherlock announced, grabbing his coat. "Come on, Sam."

But Sam didn't move; instead speaking up.

"She doesn't want anything."

Sherlock stopped, turning back towards her as Mycroft explained.

"She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor."

"Oh, a power play." Sherlock smirked, interested now. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that _is_ a dominatrix. Ooh, you were right Sam. This is getting rather fun."

"Sherlock." John chided as the client gapped at his openness and Mycroft dragged a hand down his face.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, grabbing his coat once more and getting up; tugging Sam along with him.

"In London currently. She is staying—"

"Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

"Do you really think you'll have the news by then?" The client asked, but Sherlock turned back to him with a grin.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think." The client quipped and Sam tugged at Sherlock's sleeve, attempting to get him to leave, but Sherlock wasn't about to have this man get away with doubting him so easily.

"I'll need some equipment, of course." He said to Mycroft, having already made multiple deductions about the man before them and their _true_ client.

"Anything you require. I'll have it sent to—"

"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock interrupted, looking back at the man in front of them.

"I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do." Sherlock said, holding out his hand.

"I don't smoke."

"No, I know _you_ don't, but your employer does."

A tense beat passed, before the man handed him the lighter from his pocket.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes." The man said tightly.

"I'm not the commonwealth." Sherlock snipped sharply, turning round and storming out. "Sam!" He called out after him and Sam sighed, gesturing to the man's pants.

"You might want to invest in a lint roller. You've got white little dog hairs all up your trousers and personally, you _stink_ of cigarette smoke despite the cologne trying to overpower it, but don't show any of the usual signs a regular smoker does. In case you wanted to know how he figured it out." She said, before wincing as Sherlock called out her name again, and she dashed off; leaving John in the awkward situation of saying some sort of apology to the men.

"And that's as modest as they get. Pleasure to meet you."

He hurried off to catch up with Sam and Sherlock, ducking into the cab and questioning them.

"Is that really how you knew about the smoking? The smell and the lack of whatever signs of a typical smoker?"

Sherlock turned to Sam, who fidgeted in embarrassment. "Ah, so you figured it out."

"Wasn't hard. He stank. I've been in school long enough to know the smell of cigarette smoke miles away. And it's a pain to get the yellow tobacco stains off fingers." She muttered, rubbing at her slightly yellow digits from her own bad habit.

Sherlock smiled a bit though, and dug through his coat as he spoke to John. "The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see, but do not observe."

"Observe what?"

"The ashtray." Sherlock pulled out a crystal ashtray, tossing it in the air and catching it as the group of them laughed.

They hit a red light though and Sam paled, staring out of Sherlock's window at a man in the cab beside them; him grinning and bringing a finger up to his lips as the light turned green and he disappeared.

"Sam? You alright?" John asked, having noticed her go quiet and freeze up beside him.

"Y-Y-Yeah. Fine. I-I'm… I'm fine." She lied, turning her gaze down to her hands that were now wringing themselves together nervously.

Sherlock caught the move, furrowing his brows and glancing out the window where she'd been looking, but he didn't see anything odd. After all, the cab had already pulled off to the side and let out its passenger. Jim Moriarty smirking away as he looked at the back of Sherlock's head disappearing around the next bend.

"Oh, fun indeed."


	9. Chapter 9

Clothes were flung across Sherlock's bedroom as he dug through his closet looking for something to wear. I did something similar, looking through the clothes that Bobbie had brought by while we were gone, but decidedly _not_ throwing them around the flat. John was calmer about the whole thing though, and sat peacefully at the kitchen table, reading my notebooks again. Thankfully, neither had been too concerned about my minor panic in the cab back, but I was determined not to let Irene get to me. Moriarty already had, but I knew Irene better. I knew what she was going to try and do. I knew that she loved Sherlock. But I also knew I had to be careful because she _was_ a pawn of Moriarty's. The last thing I needed was more of his attention on me because of a slip up. However, that didn't mean I was going to go down easy. And to do that, I needed to be as comfortable as possible.

"What are you doing?" John questioned us both, though mostly Sherlock; the noise of his clothes being tossed around having distracted him from his reading.

"Going into battle, John. I need the right armor." Sherlock replied, looking at himself while wearing a bright yellow safety jacket, before throwing that off as well. "Nope."

"And you, Sam?"

I looked up, clothes draped over my arm. "I'm just finding my most comfortable clothes."

"Liar!" Sherlock quipped from the other room and I frowned in his direction as he continued. "You're nervous. This is you finding the clothes you are most comfortable in to act as a confidence boost. Picking your own set of armor as it were."

"Yeah, well, nobody asked you." I grumbled, heading into the bathroom where I rolled my eyes with a hint of a smile. _Same as always, the arse._

I came out feeling much better in my dark maroon skinny jeans, white v-neck, hoodie and sneakers. I let out a soft sigh, moving to the window to smoke as we waited for Sherlock to figure out what he was going to wear; myself calling out to him idly.

"You're not going to fool her with an outfit, you know."

"Who says I'm trying to fool her?" Sherlock replied, coming out in the very same thing he'd been wearing all day and grabbing his coat and scarf. "Now hurry up."

I rolled my eyes and snuffed out my cigarette as I hurried after him and John to the cab downstairs.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked once we were on our way.

"We know her address." Sherlock answered simply.

"What? Just ring her doorbell?"

"Exactly." Sherlock leaned forward, speaking to the cab driver. "Just here, please."

"You didn't even change your clothes." John exclaimed as we climbed out of the cab and Sherlock led us to a nearby alley.

"Then it's time to add a splash of color." He said, pulling off his scarf and making to talk to John, but I stopped him.

"Could you just… Could you do that again?" I asked, making him frown at me in confusion.

"What? Take off my scarf? But I've already taken it off."

"But… just…" _Gah! I missed it! I missed the smirk on his face as he took it off! I missed the sexy Sherlock scarf removal! There's no_ way _he'll do it again now!_ My mind complained and I sighed. "Never mind."

Sherlock raised a brow, but turned to John as he spoke.

"Are we here?"

"Two streets away, but this'll do."

"For what?"

Sherlock pointed to his cheek, getting pumped up for what was going to happen; myself getting my phone ready to tape it. _After all, Lestrade got a good laugh from the whole Johnlock thing I photographed last time. Why wouldn't he like to see them fighting?_

"Punch me in the face."

"Punch you?" John questioned, looking confused.

"Yes. Punch me, in the face." He repeated, pointing again to his cheek. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."

"Oh, for God's sake…" Sherlock drawled, before hitting John squarely in the jaw; knocking him back.

He prepped himself for the inevitable, and sure enough, once back on his feet John hit him in return.

"Ow." John hissed, flexing his bruised knuckles as Sherlock got up and rubbed his cheek.

"Thanks you. That was, that was—" Sherlock didn't get to finish as John tackled him and locked him in a chokehold.

"Okay. I think we're done now, John." Sherlock croaked out, still trying to get the man off him.

"You wanna remember, Sherlock. I was a soldier. I killed people." John countered.

"You were a doctor."

"I had bad days!"

"Sam!" Sherlock called out and I sighed softly, stopping the recording.

"Yes, yes. Coming." I mumbled, heading over and reaching for one of John's wrists. "Sorry, John."

"Wha—Ow!" He yelped as I pinched a rather tender pressure point in his wrist and got him to release Sherlock; myself letting him go relatively quickly and standing between the two. "Are we done now? You two treat _me_ like a child, but seriously, you're both much worse."

"Thank you." Sherlock mumbled and I turned to him with a scowl, landing a good hit to his face as well; knocking him back to the floor, much to John's amusement.

"And _that_ , is for all the crap you've put me through the last few weeks. You git." I huffed, heading for the main road towards Irene's place, if only to keep them from seeing the embarrassed and slightly panicked expression I wore now.

 _I hit Sherlock. Dear God, I punched Sherlock Holmes in the face! I mean, it felt_ great _, honestly. I've bene wanting to punch him for a while, but he's going to kill me!_

"Do you even _know_ where you're going?"

I jumped at Sherlock's voice, turning around with wide eyes as he grabbed my arm and tugged me the other way. "I-I, uh…"

"The appropriate answer would be no. No, you don't." He responded, clearing his throat then and looking decidedly away from me. "And I apologize, for whatever it was I did that upset you. Which I assume, was most of my questioning."

I gapped at him in shock, but he turned to me with a glare.

"So long as you _don't_ send that video you took of us to Lestrade." He threatened, before grumbling. "I already can't stand the snickering from the last photo you sent him."

I snorted, laughing as we caught up with John, who smiled at us both as Sherlock went up to the door and shushed me. I stopped, still struggling to hide a smile and stayed behind him and John for now as he rang the bell, slipping on a vicar collar, and Kate answered via the intercom.

" _Hello?_ "

"Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I've just been attacked, um, and… um, I think they… they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Um, please could you help me?" Sherlock practically cried into the mic; elbowing me to stop my quite giggle just out of the screen.

I knew that just on the other side of the door, Kate was struggling to not laugh as well at Sherlock's little act.

" _I can phone the police if you want._ "

"Thank you! Thank you. Could you please. Um, would you mind if I just waited here? Just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much." He replied, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it to his cheek as Kate buzzed us in. "Thank you, uh, oh. Ha…" Sherlock stuttered out as John closed the door behind us; explaining his and my presence.

"I-I saw it all happen. My niece and I." He said, making me desperately try not to give him an annoyed look. "It's okay. I'm a doctor."

Kate nodded, glancing at me and giving me a once over briefly.

"Now, have you got a first aid kit?" John asked her and she nodded; gesturing Sherlock and I into the front room before leading John into the kitchen.

Once settled on the couch, I struggled still to not smile and Sherlock scowled at me.

"Knock it off. You're going to get us caught."

"Please." I whispered, knowing Irene would be here soon as I took off my jacket and Sherlock removed his coat. "With that acting? I would be shocked if we hadn't already."

He sighed with a roll of his eyes, scanning the room and relaxing until we heard the distinct click-clack of heels headed our way. He sat up and put the handkerchief back to his cheek, nudging me.

"Look concerned." He snipped under his breath and I hesitated before reaching out and taking the handkerchief from him.

"Then let _me_." I muttered back, holding it to his cheek, much to his surprise.

But not nearly making the impact Irene did when she strolled in.

"Hello. Sorry to hear you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your name."

"I'm so sorry. I'm—" Sherlock cut himself off upon seeing the woman very naked, lightly pushing my hand away from his face as she smirked.

"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" She purred and then set her eyes on me; to which they narrowed before her grin grew. "And you've got quite the cute friend. No acting for me, deary? Well, aren't you clever."

I stiffened as she headed over and straddled Sherlock's legs to reach his vicar collar.

"There now. We're both defrocked." She smiled down at him. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Miss Adler, I presume." Sherlock answered back, dropping his little act and keeping his gaze locked on her face.

"Oh, look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?" She asked and he frowned at her, confused, but then things changed. She got up off him and sauntered over to me, surprising me with the sudden diversion of the plot.

"And then there's you. Sam Foxe." She smirked, making me swallow thickly as she straddled my waist as well and leaned forward; a finger sliding down my neck towards my shoulder where the gunshot from Moriarty lay. "Or should I call you Sammy?"

Ice went through my body at that; the blood quickly draining from my face as my hands fisted at my sides. _His_ voice ringing in my ears.

" _A different side to my little Sammy. Isn't that interesting?"_

" _This is the only offer you're going to receive from me, Sammy."_

" _Bad choice, Sammy."_

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Irene whispered, her breath right next to my ear and I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let it out, opening my eyes to stare heatedly at Irene; causing her to smirk. "And there's the fire.~"

She put Sherlock's vicar collar between her teeth, snapping down on it harshly, just as John decided to show up. _Late_.

"Right, this should do it." He said, coming in with a bowl of water and a cloth, but stopping when he lifted his gaze to find a very naked Irene straddling me with Sherlock's vicar collar in her mouth. He looked down at the bowl and then back at us; purposely keeping his eyes off Irene's form. "I've missed something, haven't I?"

Irene took the collar from her mouth, getting up and allowing me to sink back into the couch with a tense breath of relief; though Irene herself sounded slightly annoyed at his interrupting.

"Please, sit down. Or if you'd like some tea, I can call the maid."

"I had some that the Palace." Sherlock replied with a blunt voice, though I was still trying to control my shaking limbs when he glanced at me.

"I know." Irene smiled, sitting down in a chair and crossing her legs and arms in a slight attempt to make herself more decent.

"Clearly." Sherlock muttered and the two of them locked into a staring contest until John interrupted again.

"I had tea too… at the Palace, if anyone's interested."

* * *

Sherlock frowned, looking at Irene and finding nothing that he could deduce. It frustrated him and he almost thought something was wrong with him, but he looked over at John and found everything he needed to know about his companion. _Two-day shirt. Electric, not blade. Date tonight. Hasn't phoned sister. New toothbrush. Night out with Stamford._ He turned back to Irene, but still nothing. So he turned to Sam and his frown deepened. _Anxious. Twisting hands and trying not to bounce her leg. Shoulder's hurting. Psychological pain? Something Irene said reminded her of Moriarty. Jaw tense with grit teeth. She's angry. At whom? Irene? Herself perhaps? But why? Lack of confidence…?_

"Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked, drawing his attention back to her. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait. Even Sammy knew that and didn't bother to dress up as anything other than herself."

Sam flinched and Sherlock connected the dots. _Sammy. She doesn't like being called that because that's what Moriarty called her back at the pool. Nothing I can do about it._

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" He questioned Irene, hoping for some sort of slip-up.

"No. I think you're damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself." She commented as Sherlock unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt to get more comfortable now that the act was completely up. Irene leaned in though, smirking. "Ooh, somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too."

She glanced over at Sam, who'd since grown slightly more confident, eyes scanning her with a smile. "Isn't that right, Sammy?"

"Bruised knuckles a bit of a giveaway." Sam muttered, surprising Sherlock with how quickly she was lowering her shy barriers in front of this woman and showing a hint of her true self.

"Hm." Irene hummed, turning to John as well, who forced a chuckle in the awkward silence.

"Could you put something on, please? Uh, anything at all?" He glanced down and picked up the cloth he'd brought. "A napkin?"

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?" Irene questioned as Sherlock stood.

"I don't think John knows where to look." He replied, handing Irene his coat.

She ignored him though, walking over to John who stiffened and looked right up at her face.

"No, I think he knows _exactly_ where." She hummed, reaching back for the coat. "I'm not sure about you. Sammy, on the other hand, well…" Irene turned to Sam again, as she slipped on Sherlock's coat. "I'm sure she knows where to look, but doesn't want to ruin what's left of her self-confidence."

Sam bristled, but bit her tongue, keeping her mouth shut and her eyes straight, even as Irene reached out and brushed her hand over the side of her face.

"Mm, but she really does put me in a bind. I'm quite a fan of the cute, young, innocent ones."

"If I wanted to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop." Sherlock quipped, being sure to draw her attention away from the quickly angering Sam.

"You _do_ borrow my laptop."

"I confiscate it." He corrected, heading over to the fireplace.

He was getting frustrated with this whole mess. He didn't like how Sam was acting, nor how Irene was easily manipulating her into acting as such. And it was annoying to him, how the two almost seemed to _know_ each other. Or know _of_ each other. It was like a secret talk was going on right in front of him, but he wasn't privy to knowing what it was they were silently communicating to each other. It was making it hard to focus on the case.

"Well, never mind. We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me. I need to know." Irene piped up, sitting on the sofa uncomfortably close to Sam. "How was it done?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, confused by the out-of-nowhere question.

"The hiker with the bashed-in head." She replied, removing her heels. "How was he killed?"

Sherlock looked at John and Sam, then back to Irene in confusion. "That's not why I'm here."

"No, no, no. You're here for the photographs, but that's never going to happen, and since we're just chatting anyway…" She trailed off, leaning against Sam and draping an arm around the young woman's shoulders as she trailed a finger around her ear; the latter of the two looking stiff as a board and more than displeased.

"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" John asked.

"Blackmail." Sam said bluntly, swiping at Irene's hand, but the woman just tutted.

"Now, now." Irene looked up at John. "I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes."

"Oh." John said, sitting down on the opposite side of her. "And you like policemen?"

" _John_." Sam snipped and John had the decency to look sheepish as Irene smirked.

"I like detective stories… _and_ detectives. Brainy's the new sexy."

"Position of the car." Sherlock said so quickly that John and Irene had to double-take as he repeated himself more slowly. "Uh, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

"Okay. Tell me. How was he murdered?" Irene pressed.

"He wasn't." Sam grumbled, getting up after finally having enough of Irene's fondling.

"You don't think it was murder?" Irene questioned her, but Sherlock responded; watching as Sam moved towards the window and her hand twitched by her pocket.

"I _know_ it wasn't." _Wants a cigarette. Stressed, but more than that. She's antsy about something. And how did she know about the case? She was asleep and it wasn't mentioned in detail by Mycroft earlier, nor John._

"How?" Irene asked, more curious now than anything, and not liking that Sherlock was focusing on Sam instead of her.

"The same way I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

"Okay, but how?"

Sherlock smirked and Irene's brows furrowed in confusion. "So they _are_ in this room. Thank you. John, Sam. Man the door. Let no one in."

Sam looked over at Sherlock, who nodded to the door and she begrudgingly headed out with John. Sherlock wanted her out of the tense room. She obviously had issues with Irene and, while he wasn't sure how, he knew things might go along more smoothly if Irene wasn't drifting from messing with him to messing with her. That, and her anxious ticks were getting distracting. _And this way, I have Irene's full attention._ Sherlock mused as Irene glanced nervously at the door.

"Two men alone in the countryside, several yards apart, and one car." Sherlock started, pacing as Irene's head snapped back around to him.

"Oh. I-I thought you were looking for the photos now."

 _Got you._ "No, no. Looking takes ages. I'm just going to find them, but you're moderately clever and we've got a moment. So let's pass the time."

* * *

John and I headed outside and I sighed, relaxing my shoulders that had been tense ever since Irene walked into the room.

"She bothers you too then?" John questioned me lightly, picking up a newspaper nearby and rolling it up; according to Sherlock's plan.

"More than you know."

"Hm. She _was_ rather focused on you, and you two seem to have a thing going on." He commented, making me turn to him in concern.

"W-What?"

"Well, you kept looking at each other. Like you were having your own conversation. Have you met before?"

I swallowed thickly, not knowing what to really tell him and feeling that if I said nothing, this would very much come back to bite me in the butt. _But if I say I know her, I'll become suspicious too. And I can't say much of anything about what I know… although… they seem to accept that I know things already. They just don't know the extent and where I got it from… maybe…_

"I-I'll… I'll explain later." I begrudgingly told him, earning a concerned look from John as he began to light the magazine with the lighter we 'borrowed'. "Part of it, anyway… You know, about the whole… me knowing things. Just not here. Please."

He nodded and gave me a small reassuring smile, waving the smoking magazine up at the fire alarm until it went off. Problem was, I knew better than anyone that fire alarms tend to just go on for a long while and John was having trouble putting out the magazine; Sherlock calling out from inside.

"I said you can turn it off now!"

"Give us a minute!" John said, whacking the magazine before I took it from him and dropped it to the wood floor; stomping it out and giving him a look.

"Army man and you can't put out a bit of fire?"

He shrugged with a small smile, before there were loud steps behind us and three men came down; my body going stiff as I realized I'd completely forgotten about them in my earlier panic with Irene. One of the group used his silenced gun to 'turn off' the fire alarm and quickly aimed it at John and I. I stiffened, but John gave me a pointed look and I put my hands up alongside him as he thanked the men for turning off the alarm.

"Thank you."

I wanted to at least _warn_ Sherlock of what was coming and took a step back; purposely kicking the door with my heel. I wasn't sure if he got the message, but the leader of the group grabbed my shirt and yanked me forwards; snarling in my face.

"Bad move."

I grimaced as he pulled his own weapon and turned me around with my arm pinned painfully behind my back. The cold steel pressed into my jugular and I struggled to not think of the last time a gun was pointed at me. _Zhi Zhu, Shan, Sebastian Moran… The pattern is beginning to get hard to ignore. It's always me and my big ideas._

"Move." He snapped, shoving me at the door as he pulled it open and shouted orders to Irene and Sherlock. "Hands behind your head. On the floor. Keep it still."

"Sorry, Sherlock." John apologized as he was brought in and the second guy stood behind Irene as she was forced to kneel on the ground.

"No need. Sam gave us some warning." He replied, hands up behind his head as he turned to the man in charge. "Don't you want me on the floor too?"

"No, sir. I want you to open the safe."

Sherlock tipped his head slightly as he glanced at me, looking almost relieved, though I was sure it was because I was calm and _not_ having a panic attack. _Though if I'm not careful, I may very well be heading on the way to one._

"American. Interesting. Why would _you_ care?" He muttered, looking over at Irene and then back at me briefly, before leveling his gaze at Neilson— _Now that I remember his name…_

"Sir, the safe, _now_. Please." He pressed, adjusting the weapon digging in under my jaw.

"I don't know the code."

"We've been listening. She said she told you." Neilson argued.

"Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she didn't."

Neilson wasn't about to give in though. "I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr. Holmes."

"For God's sake, _she's_ the one who knows the code, ask her." John pressed from his spot on the ground beside Irene.

"Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."

"Mr. Holmes doesn't—" Irene started, but was cut off by Neilson.

"Shut up. One more word out of you—just one—and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship."

"This is why the British think Americans are pig-headed and trigger happy morons." I grumbled, mentally scolding myself for my big mouth when Neilson yanked my arm up even higher and causing me to let out a small cry of pain.

"Stop it. Leave her alone." Sherlock snapped harshly, and the pressure lightened up briefly as I turned my watery gaze to Sherlock.

"Alright. Then on the count of three, I'll shoot her."

"What?!" John exclaimed as Sherlock's gaze turned to me.

"I don't have the code."

"One."

"I don't know the code." Sherlock pressed, getting more panicked as the countdown went on.

"Two."

"She didn't tell me." He said, voice raising. "I don't know it!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now." Neilson said, cocking the gun, but before he said three _I_ called out.

"Wait!"

Everything in the room stopped for a second as I tried to speak past the fear.

"W-Wait. I know it. I-I know the code."

"Sam?" John murmured in shock as I opened my eyes and caught Sherlock's narrowed eyes looking at me in confusion.

"Do you now?" Neilson hummed, shoving me towards the fireplace where I barely managed to get my hands in front of me to prevent my head colliding with the edge. "Open it."

I gave Sherlock a nervous look, flinching when I heard Neilson cock his weapon once more.

" _Now._ "

I brought a shaky hand up and began putting in the numbers, hoping that my memory of them was correct. _32, 24, 34. The supposedly perfect measurements._ The safe beeped, unlocking as everyone let out a breath of relief. I glanced at Sherlock, who watched as I mouthed 'Vatican cameos' and his eyes widened in understanding.

"Vatican cameos!" He called out quickly, just as I yanked the door of the safe open and John ducked along with the rest of us.

The guard behind John was killed and I managed to swing up and disarm Neilson as Irene took care of her guard; myself landing a solid pistol hit to Neilson's face and knocking him unconscious. Sherlock looked a little surprised, but turned to Irene who hadn't quite knocked her guard out yet.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all." She replied, knocking him out as well while Sherlock used her distraction to snatch what was in the safe.

John, who'd been checking his guard stood up; out of breath. "He's dead."

"Thank you." Irene smiled over at me. "You were very observant."

"Observant?" John questioned.

"I'm flattered."

"P-Please, d-d-don't." I stuttered out, very out of breath and feeling the verge of a panic attack trying to rear its ugly head as Sherlock took the gun from me cautiously.

"Sam, sit down." He ordered and I nodded, moving to the nearest chair and collapsing in it; ducking my head down towards my knees and running my hands through my short hair.

 _Dear God. I could have died._

* * *

Irene looked at the scene before her in confusion and slight concern. "Is she alright?"

John hurried over to Sam's side as Sherlock nodded idly; moving to the door.

"She'll be fine. There'll be more of them though. They'll be keeping an eye on the building. John, with me."

"But—"

"G-Go, John. I just need a minute." Sam muttered shakily and John begrudgingly nodded, hurrying after Sherlock as they bolted out the front door.

The moment they were gone though, Irene went towards the safe, only to find it empty.

"You won't find it." Sam told her and she turned to the young woman with a frown as gunshots rang outside.

"And how is it you know so much? I doubt you're as clever as Sherlock and could tell my measurements from just a glance."

Sam lifted her gaze, looking tired. "Didn't he tell you about me?"

Irene furrowed her brows, but Sherlock returned then, calling out to John as he disarmed the pistol he had.

"Check the rest of the house. See how they got in." He then turned to Irene, who still looked a bit stunned as he flipped the phone he'd taken from the safe and caught it. "Well, that's a knighthood in the bag."

"Ah, and that's mine." Irene said tensely, holing out her hand.

Sherlock ignored her and unlocked the screen to find a security code. 'I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED'.

"All the photographs are in here, I presume?" He asked.

"I have copies, of course."

"No, you don't." Sherlock quickly shot down her vain attempt at protecting herself. "You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."

Irene lowered her outstretched hand. "Who said I'm selling?"

Sherlock looked at Sam briefly, slightly glad she was no longer panicking and had gotten ahold of herself, but lightly gestured to the men on the floor. "Well, why would _they_ be interested? Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs."

"That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes. I'd die before I let you take it." She said sternly, stepping closer and holding out her hand again. "It's my protection."

"Sherlock!" John called out from upstairs, and Sherlock looked right at Irene and pulled the phone back.

"It _was_."

Sherlock walked out and Sam went to follow, but Irene grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"You said 'him'. You know why I have that phone, don't you?"

Sam didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough for Irene to know.

"Then you have to get him to give it back. Do you understand what will happen if I don't have that?"

" _If you don't, I'll make you into_ shoes _."_

"I-I can't convince him. Sherlock already thinks I work for _him_. There's nothing I can do."

Irene scowled at her, shoving her out of her way and storming out after Sherlock as Sam sighed softly to herself.

"Sherlock's _my_ protection… I'm sorry, but I can't lose him."

* * *

I hurried up after Irene, worried about what I was going to do now. Informing her that I knew future events was probably a bad thing and I had no doubt that Moriarty would get more suspicious and would probably up his game, but a part of me understood her. We were both being hunted by him and Sherlock was the one guy who could save us both. _That_ was probably what made Irene infatuated with him. He was her knight in shining armor. If she could just prove that to him, she could be safe, but to do that she has to fool him and Moriarty. Just as I needed to fool Sherlock and John to be kept safe. Things were changing though. Events changed because I was in them. The thing with the safe, Irene talking with me, John and Sarah, Zhi Zhu. Everything was changing because I had a place in the plot now and as much as I wanted to just keep my foreknowledge to myself, it was already obvious. Sherlock knew. John knew. Irene and Moriarty knew. Hell, Mycroft probably knew. And in a minute, Sherlock would be drugged by Irene, who would take her phone back and I had a part to play. Do I leave him and stay with John? Do I follow and risk him getting more suspicious when I allow Irene to get away? Do _I_ get drugged? I wanted to help him, but getting to that point was the hard part. Worst part was, I had only a few seconds to figure it out and every move would cast suspicion on me.

"It's alright. She's just out cold." John's voice trailed down the stairs.

"Well, God knows she's used to that. There's a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson." Irene's voice followed; John heading down the stairs and passing me as I hurried up them.

He missed the frantic look on my face as I dashed into the room, just as Irene began to saunter towards Sherlock.

"Wait!"

Both stopped, looking at me, though Irene looked tense and I worried she might just launch herself after Sherlock.

"Sherlock, just give it to her." I pleaded, giving him a short desperate look, before locking my eyes back onto Irene and slowly moving towards them both.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock questioned dubiously.

"Give her the phone. We can get it back later. I swear." I promised, that much closer to them as Irene looked between us in confusion.

"Oh, and you know everything now?" Sherlock scoffed. "Oh, wait. You _do_ , don't you? You've known for a while, I'll bet. Why are you only _now_ telling me this, hm? Giving her the phone is a benefit for you, is that it?"

"Sherlock, please. I'll explain later, but right now just give it to her."

"No."

"Sher—"

" _No_." He pressed harder, eyes narrowing into angry slits. "Perhaps I should have trusted my instinct. You probably deserve prison."

Irene, seeing that negotiations were failing, quickly rushed towards Sherlock and jabbed the syringe into his arm.

"No!" I shouted, close enough to knock it out before she could completely dose him up, but he still began to stumble.

"What? What is that? W-What…"

Sherlock turned, tripping over his own feet at the movement and tumbling to the ground. I rushed to his side in concern, muttering under my breath.

"You idiot. You moron. I was trying to _prevent_ this."

His brows furrowed, pupils dilated before he seemed to focus on something behind me and I turned in time to see a hand hit me hard across the face. I fell back, cringing at the pain radiating through my cheek and my head, which had cracked against the wooden floor.

"Give it to me. Now. Give it to me." She ordered Sherlock as I pushed myself up and shook my head to clear it. "Oh, for goodness' sake."

I spotted her grabbing the riding crop and forced myself only my feet. "No, Irene. Stop!"

She turned, but while I expected the riding crop, I was met with a similar syringe jabbing me in the shoulder. Immediately, things began to sway and I cursed as I fell to my knees and got rid of the empty syringe.

"I _will_ get it back, Sammy. Not even you can stop me." She said, sickly sweet.

"J-Just don't hurt him." I slurred, attempting to blink the clouds in my vision away.

"Fine." She said, making me frown, because it was too easy. "Sherlock, drop it or it'll be dear Sammy who takes a hit."

"W-Wha—"

I winced as her riding crop met my lower back. Once, twice, three times. My hands shook and I felt sick to my stomach as she shouted at him.

"Drop it. I—"

Another hit.

"—said—"

And another.

"—drop it!"

With yet another hit sending fire along my back and bringing tears to my eyes, Irene sighed and I fell onto my side on the floor; vision blurrier than before as she picked up the phone from the ground.

"Ah, thank you, dear. The both of you." Irene smirked, typing on her phone. "Now tell that sweet little posh thing, the pictures are safe with me. They're not for blackmail, just for insurance. Besides, I might want to see her again. Perhaps you as well, Sammy. He'll want to know how you're doing."

Sherlock grunted, trying to get up, but Irene pressed him back down with her foot and caressed his cheek with her riding crop.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It's been a pleasure. Don't spoil it. This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you. Goodnight, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Sammy, dear."

John chose to enter then, looking at Sherlock and I on the ground in confusion. "Jesus. What are you doing?"

Irene headed for the bathroom window. "She'll sleep for a few hours, Sherlock probably less, since he got only a bit of the dosage. Make sure they don't choke on their own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse."

John reached to pick up the syringe beside me. "What's this? What have you given them? Sherlock? Sam?"

"They'll be fine. I've used it on loads of my friends." Irene replied, my vision getting darker by the second.

John leaned over me, saying something, but I was fading fast and before long, everything went dark.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock woke up with a sharp breath, having sworn he'd just seen Irene. He shook his head, clearing it and called out to John.

"John!"

He threw off his sheet and lost his balance for a minute, stumbling off the bed as John entered with a slightly worried look.

"You okay?"

"How did I get here?" Sherlock questioned.

"Well, uh… Well I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, getting to his feet; a bit more stable now.

"Sam? She's in my bed. I didn't want to leave her on the couch an—"

"No, the woman. That woman."

"What woman?" John asked, growing more worried.

" _The_ woman. The _woman_ woman."

"Oh, Irene Adler? She got away. No one saw her."

Sherlock scowled and went over to the window, making John sigh.

"She wasn't here, Sherlock." John said, getting annoyed as Sherlock went to check under his bed. "Sherlock, go back to bed. You're probably still being effected by the drugs."

"No. I'm fine. I only got a small dosage." Sherlock grumbled, before he frowned and turned to John. "Sam's in your room?"

John's brows furrowed, but he nodded. "Yes. Like I said, I didn't want to have her on the couch with her back that way."

"Back? What's wrong with her back?"

"There's welts, Sherlock. Like she was hit with something. I didn't know when I tried to lay her down, but she managed to let me know it hurt before the drugs knocked her out. Then when I checked—Oi! Sherlock!" John called after him as he hurried to John's room and threw open the door. "Sherlock, she'll still be sleeping! The drugs probably won't wear off until the morning!"

Sherlock ignored him though, pulling the blankets off the young woman and lifting up the back of her shirt. He winced, frowning at the red welts as he remembered what had happened with Irene. He covered Sam back up and clenched his fists.

"Have you treated them?"

"Well, yeah. Not much I can do, but I've iced them already. I was getting another ice pack when you started shouting. Sherlock, what happened?"

Sherlock turned and walked out, heading for the main room, only to hear a woman sigh loudly from his room. He doubled back, seeing no woman and digging through his coat to pull out his phone where a text waited.

 _Till next time,_

 _Mr. Holmes._

He frowned, glancing at his coat and remembering that Irene had been wearing it when they left. A chill went down his spine and he made sure his window latches were done before he went to the living room while John was in the kitchen; making tea.

"Do you mind if I use your room? I'm knackered." John questioned, setting Sherlock's mug down in front of him.

"Fine. Don't touch anything."

"Check up on Sam every once in a while." John told him, moving for the bedroom, only to stop. "And Sam said she had something to tell us. She probably won't be up for a while longer, but… try to be nice."

Sherlock hummed, mind going rampant as he struggled to focus on one topic. Irene flew around his mind palace and now Sam did as well. Her actions the previous night frustrated him. He was again questioning what she knew, where she got the information to open the safe, whether she was on Irene's side, or Moriarty's side or whomever. Nothing was making sense about her and it only made him more and more annoyed. He hardly noticed when the sun came up, or when John returned to the living room; only to leave to check up on Sam, which Sherlock had forgotten to do.

"I'm going to help Mrs. Hudson make some breakfast." John said idly, snapping Sherlock out of his daze.

"Hm, yes. Alright. Is she up yet?"

"Nope." John replied simply, moving into the kitchen. "Let me know when she is. I need to look at her back again."

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, grabbing a newspaper as his phone chimed. "Mycroft's coming over."

"For the photos?"

"Probably."

"Wonder how he's going to handle that."

Sherlock didn't reply, glancing up from his read as he heard noise. Sam was awake. The young woman came out from where John's room was, still looking slightly unsteady on her feet and tense. She winced in pain when she bent to retrieve some of her clothes from her luggage by the couch and moved for the restroom to change.

"John wants to look at your back." Sherlock said, eyes shifting back to his paper as Sam flinched before nodding and retreated into the bathroom.

She came out not much later in navy blue sweats and a loose black shirt, just as John came out with breakfast.

"Ah, Sam. Could I look at your back? Just to check on the welts."

"Sure." Sam muttered and John nodded, setting his breakfast on the table and gesturing to a chair.

Sam sat in it backwards and allowed John to lift up the back of her shirt where the six angry welts stared back. She winced when John lightly pressed on them, but he was soon done and let her move to sit at the table and join them.

"They probably still need to be iced. Who hit you? And what with?"

"Irene." Sam grumbled, sitting at the table and picking up her fork to eat. "Riding crop."

"What for?"

Sam glanced at Sherlock briefly, but turned her gaze back to her plate. "Doesn't matter."

John frowned, but Sherlock spoke up.

"You have something to explain to us?"

Sam stopped eating for a moment, but nodded before resuming. "Later. Not while Mycroft's around and… preferably not here."

"Why not here?" John questioned.

"She thinks someone could be listening in." Sherlock replied easily. "Fine. We'll go out later and you can explain then."

She nodded just as Mycroft was led up the stairs by Mrs. Hudson, who greeted everyone before moving into the kitchen.

"The photographs are perfectly safe." Sherlock informed his annoyed-looking brother.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker."

"She's not interested in blackmail." Sherlock pressed. "She wants… protection for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied."

"She'd applaud your choice of words." Sherlock quipped, earning small smiles from Sam and John. "You see how this works. That camera phone is her 'get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

"Though not the way _she_ treats royalty." John tacked on, smiling at Mycroft, who practically grimaced back.

A female sigh echoed in the room then, making John and Mycroft frown, and Sam glance up from her meal.

"What was that?" John asked.

"Text." Sherlock replied simply getting up to get his phone.

"But what was that noise?"

Sherlock ignored the question, looking at the text.

 _Good morning, Mr. Holmes._

There was a moan then and all eyes went to Sam, who blushed before digging through her own pockets. Sherlock raised a brow, silently questioning if Irene got her phone too. _Judging from the scowl, most likely._

"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent the three of us in there?" Sherlock said then, distracting the group as Sam typed a reply on her phone. "CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess."

"Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft." John drawled sarcastically as Mrs. Hudson came in the room with a plate of breakfast for Sherlock as well.

"It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes." She chided him and he scowled.

"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson."

"Mycroft!"

"Oi!"

"Seriously?!" The trio exclaimed and Mycroft had the decency to look a little sheepish at his remark.

"Apologies." He muttered as Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"Thank you."

Sherlock opened his mouth to make a crack at her as well, but grimaced when something hit him harshly in the leg. He glared over at Sam, but the young woman shushed him before both their phones went off again.

"Ooh, it's a bit rude, those noises, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson remarked.

 _Feeling better?_

Sherlock looked over his phone as Sam did the same, though she was the one to type a response.

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she _will_ do as far as I can see." Sherlock informed Mycroft, getting back on topic.

"I can put maximum surveillance on her."

"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her username is 'TheWhipHand'."

"Yes. Most amusing." Mycroft wrinkled his nose as his phone rang and he excused himself; leaving John to question Sam and Sherlock on their new text alerts.

"Why do your phones make those noises?"

"What noise?" Sherlock attempted to deny.

" _That_ noise. The one it just made. Yours too, Sam."

"It's a text alert. It means we've got a text." Sherlock replied easily.

"Hm, your texts don't usually make that noise. Or any noise at all, in Sam's case."

"Well, somebody got hold of our phones and apparently, as a joke, personalized their text alert noise." Sherlock said, getting annoyed.

"Hm. So every time they text you—"

There was another feminine sigh and moan.

"It would seem so."

"My phone's been disabled too." Sam grumbled, typing away a response to her texter. "I can't turn down the volume _or_ change the text alert sound."

"I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" John questioned Sherlock, who lifted the paper higher to cover his face.

"I'll leave you to your deductions."

John smiled, having figured it out. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Where _do_ you get that idea?" Sherlock mocked him.

Mycroft walked back into the room, finishing up his conversation on the phone. "Bond Air is go. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later."

Sherlock watched him and Mycroft tucked his phone away. "What else does she have?"

Mycroft looked up in question.

"Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." Sherlock stood up and faced Mycroft. "Much more. Something big's coming, isn't it?"

Mycroft gave nothing away. "Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this."

"Oh, will I?"

"Yes, Sherlock, you _will_." Mycroft said sternly and Sherlock went over to his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

"Do give her my love." Sherlock replied, picking up his violin and playing 'God Save the Queen' as Mycroft rolled his eyes.

Before he left though, his gaze shifted to Sam's.

"Enjoy your holidays with your brothers, Sam, should you decide to go."

Sam stiffened, before shrinking down and gazing at her plate looking unsure as Mycroft left. John gave her a worried look, but Sherlock had enough and stood.

"Come on then. You wish to speak, let's go."

Sam hesitated, but got up and began pulling on her hoodie as John stood to join them. The three caught a cab and ended up in a semi-crowded restaurant that Sam recognized as the one from 'A Study in Pink'; where they took their seats by the front window and ordered drinks. Sam remained silent for a bit longer, before finally speaking up.

"I can't tell you everything." She muttered, eyes shifting from the table top to look directly at Sherlock's. "You already know that I have information I shouldn't, but I can't tell you where I got it from." She looked back down. "I don't want to lose what little respect you might still have for me. You would think I was lying anyway."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but Sam continued.

"I know the future, basically." She said, frowning a bit at her wording, but not changing it. "I know where we're going to go, who we're going to run into, a decent number of cases we're going to go on, that sort of thing."

"So you knew about Soo Lin Yao." Sherlock said then, making Sam wince and duck her head lower as their drinks were dropped off.

"Yes." She murmured. "I knew about her, about the Chinese cypher, Shan, Mor…" She grimaced, struggling with his name and Sherlock finished it; eyes suspicious.

"Moriarty. You knew it was him behind the bombings."

She nodded.

"How?"

She sighed heavily, hands shakily reaching for her drink, but only to hold the warm mug. "I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't believe me. You'd think I was lying or insane or delusional. I'm not stupid, Sherlock." She said sharply, eyes lifting to meet his. "There's a lot you may believe in, but what happened to me is never going to fit into your factual way of thinking. _I_ didn't even believe it happened until I had no other choice."

"Then why not tell us this after you were shot?" John questioned then. "We can help you."

She glanced at him, eyes softening, before she shook her head. "I told you before. What I know has the potential to put everyone I know in danger. Mycroft is already threatening my brothers. Mori… _He_ threatened you both already. It's only a matter of time before everything I care about is taken from me and… and the last thing I wanted to do was rid the world of Sherlock and you. I'm just some college kid, but you two go around saving lives. You can stop him, but I wouldn't even be able to put a finger on him. You both saw this at the pool. Who did you believe?" She asked, looking between them both. "You _still_ think I work for him, because it's his words over mine. Now imagine how that would work if I was trying to get him caught. Who believes the words of some college student over someone with connections like him?" She turned back to her drink solemnly. "My dying wouldn't mean anything."

"Sam…" John murmured, looking heartbroken at the young woman seated before them; carrying more than her share of burdens.

He turned to Sherlock, but the man was silently watching her; eyes narrowed in suspicion. She was a puzzle he was trying to piece together, but he was still missing some information.

"How do you know Irene Adler?" He asked suddenly and Sam winced.

"I… I don't, really. I know _of_ her. I know her role in this case and what she'll end up doing later. I know who she's protecting herself from, but… I can't tell you anything."

"Why not?" John questioned.

"Because if I give away something too soon, it could mean your lives." She said seriously.

"So you said nothing with Soo Lin Yao, causing her death instead." Sherlock said shortly and Sam grimaced, sinking into herself slightly.

"I tried. I did my best to help her and you saw what happened."

"But if you had informed us, then—"

"Then _you_ would have been killed." Sam cut him off, looking at him desperately and trying to get him to understand.

He scowled though, arguing the point. "And do you have a sure way of knowing that as well? Knowing every possible outcome of your interference?"

"N-No, but—"

"Then who are you to choose what information you share or don't share when someone else's _life_ is on the line?"

"I-I don't…"

"Sherlock." John chided the man as Sam squeezed her hands around her mug to hide their shaking.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Sam muttered softly. "But even if I had told you, you wouldn't have believed me. I have no evidence to back up my claims. You would have just scoffed and ran off. The only reason you're believing me now is because there's enough proof that I know things I shouldn't. You probably don't even think it's because of what I said. You don't actually believe I know the future. You just think I've got some man on the inside feeding me information when you're not looking." She chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, right. I'm just some college kid. Where the hell would I find someone like that?"

"Prove it."

She looked up with a frown of confusion. "What?"

Sherlock folded his arms over his chest. "If you claim to know the future, them prove it. Tell me something that will happen. What I'll have for breakfast tomorrow. I don't care. _Prove_ _it._ "

"I-I don't know everything. Only things relating to cases and I can't tell you anything about those because it will mess up later events."

"Well, there has to be _something_." He argued.

Sam's brows furrowed, her gaze shifting to the contents of her cup before she looked back up hesitantly.

"You really should watch your mouth with Molly at Christmas." She said, making Sherlock frown.

"What?"

Sam sighed. "You're going to upset Molly at Christmas… and John's girlfriend."

"What?" John repeated Sherlock's earlier comment.

"You have too many. He's not going to remember the name of them all because they're not vaguely important to him. And _you_ ' _re_ not even going to remember which girlfriend she is." Sam replied, finally drinking some of her tea only to grimace at the cold temperature of the drink.

"I will." John argued. "I always remember my girlfriends."

Sherlock though was frowning for a different reason. "That's it? Couldn't pick anything sooner?"

Sam shrugged lightly. "You don't have any note-worthy cases between now and then. Or, well, no cases that _I_ know about. I have gaps between what I know sometimes. This is one of them. I don't have the slightest idea what happens between now and Christmas. And I'm probably going to end up with my brothers for a bit before that unless something comes up." Sam said, sighing heavily. "Which it probably will."

John furrowed his brows at that and went to ask her what she meant, but Sherlock stood and placed money on the table for their drinks.

"I have an experiment to take care of." He said shortly, still looking as though he was struggling with a very difficult problem. "I'll be at Bart's."

He strolled out with a swish of his coat and Sam watched him go solemnly before sighing herself and standing.

"I'm going back to the flat. Do you want to share a cab, or…"

"Hm? Ah, no. That's alright. You can go ahead. I've got to grab some more shopping and I'll head back to the flat when I'm done."

Sam hesitated, but nodded, heading out and making John watch her go with one thought passing through his mind. _Why do I get the feeling we've only made things worse?_

* * *

Sherlock finished up a rendition of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' on his violin as Mrs. Hudson grinned and John brought out the drinks with Lestrade giving an appreciative whistle.

"Lovely. Sherlock, that was lovely."

"Marvelous." John agreed after clearing his throat and taking a seat as Mrs. Hudson chuckled.

"I wish you could have worn the antlers."

"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson."

"Mrs. H." John hummed, setting down some tea for her as his girlfriend brought over a tray of mince pies and cakes to Sherlock.

"No, thank you, Sarah."

Her expression fell and John hurried over to repair the damage.

"Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names."

"No, no, no. I can get this." Sherlock replied, determined. "No. Sarah was the Doctor and then there was the one with the spots, and then the one with the nose, and then…" He paused with a frown. "Who was after the boring teacher?"

"Nobody." She snapped.

"Jeanette!" The man grinned to himself. "Ah, process of elimination."

"Now where's your little tag-along?" Lestrade hummed, looking around. "I don't see her here."

John caught on, having caught Sherlock's frown and responding before the man could answer.

"Ah, she actually went home for the holidays. Said she'd try to make it here for Christmas, but I haven't heard from her."

There were footfalls on the stairs then and Sherlock groaned as he saw Molly enter the room.

"Oh, dear Lord."

"Hello, everyone." Molly smiled sheepishly, wrapped up in a thick coat and carrying some bags of presents. "Sorry, hello. Uh, it said on the door to just come up."

Everyone greeted her cheerfully, except Sherlock, who waved his bow around and complained.

"Oh, everyone's saying hello to each other. How wonderful."

He was in a foul mood now that Sam had been mentioned.

John though, ignored him and went over to help Molly out of her coat. "Let me, uh… holy Mary!"

Even Lestrade's jaw dropped at the sight of the black dress Molly had on under her coat. "Wow."

"Having Christmas drinkies then?" Molly questioned.

"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock drawled, sitting at the table to look at what John had been posting on his blog lately.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it." Mrs. Hudson chuckled, before her smile faltered. "Oh, but I do wish Sam were here. I think she'd love this."

Sherlock ignored the group, typing away on John's laptop, though he could have been kinder to the keys he was mashing.

"John?" He called out then, having spotted something after John pulled out a seat for Molly. "The counter on your blog. Still says 1895."

"Oh no. Christmas is cancelled." John said sarcastically until Sherlock scowled at having spotted a photo off to the side.

"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!"

"People like the hat."

"No, they don't." Sherlock argued, more annoyed. "What people?"

He resumed typing, looking for anything useful on the blog, but unable to help overhearing Molly behind him talking to Mrs. Hudson.

"How's the hip?"

"Oh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." Molly joked, but the room grew uncomfortable. "Oh, God. Sorry."

Sherlock looked over. "Don't make jokes, Molly."

She winced, but Lestrade passed her a glass that she gratefully took; deciding to change topic. "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife." Lestrade answered with a small smile. "We're back together. It's all sorted."

"No. She's sleeping with a P.E. teacher." Sherlock informed him, making his face fall.

"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's. Is that right?" Molly tried. "Sherlock was complaining— _saying_." She corrected.

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." John smiled, only for Sherlock to ruin that as well.

"Nope."

"Shut up, Sherlock." John snapped at him, but Sherlock was getting annoyed and finally decided to add something to the conversation.

 _Since Molly's inquiring into everyone else's lives…_ "I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."

"Sorry, what?" Molly questioned nervously.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." Sherlock continued as John grumbled under his breath.

"Take a day off."

Even Lestrade could see this getting out of hand and put a glass down beside Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped in a box. All the others are slapdash at best." Sherlock replied, not taking the hint everyone was trying to give him as he stood and went over to Molly. "It's for someone special then." He hummed, picking up the present on top and not seeing how Molly began to squirm uncomfortably. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick—either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has _love_ on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes—however forlorn—and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…"

He stopped, having flipped the present over to read the tag to find out who it was for, only to discover something surprising.

 _Dearest Sherlock_

 _Love Molly xxx_

A thought came into his head then. Something he'd heard not too long ago.

" _You really should watch your mouth with Molly at Christmas."_

A bitter taste filled his mouth, seeing now that Sam had been correct and because he didn't take her seriously and heed her warning, he'd just done something terrible to someone he possibly considers a friend.

"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. _Always_." Molly breathed out, holding back tears.

Sherlock wanted to walk away. Wanted to feel nothing and just leave. He nearly did, but turned back and apologized.

"I am sorry. Forgive me." He said, closing his eyes and missing John's surprised expression as he begrudgingly took Sam's words to heart and stepped forward to kiss Molly on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

A woman's sigh echoed in the silence of the room then and Molly panicked.

"No! That wasn't… I-I didn't…"

"No, it was me." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"My God, really?" Lestrade gasped.

"What?"

"My _phone_." Sherlock pressed, pulling it out as John raised a brow.

"Fifty-seven?"

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock questioned.

"Fifty-seven of those texts. The ones I've heard." John clarified as Sherlock looked at the message.

 _Mantelpiece_.

"Thrilling you've been counting." Sherlock replied idly as he went to the mantel and picked up a small box the same shade of Irene's lipstick. "Excuse me."

John, suspicious, sat up. "W-What's up? Sherlock?"

"I said excuse me." He pressed, heading to his room as John called at his back.

"Do you ever reply?"

Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed and opened the box, stunned to find Irene's phone inside. Immediately knowing what this meant, he phoned up Mycroft.

" _Oh, dear Lord. We're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?"_

"I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight and I suggest checking up on Sam as well."

" _We already know where they both are. As for Miss Adler, as you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters."_

"No. I mean you're going to find her dead. Where is Sam?"

" _Ask her yourself._ "

Sherlock scowled and hung up the phone, knowing John was right by the door, and he slammed it shut in John's face as the man questioned if he was alright. Sherlock frowned down at Irene's phone, before pocketing it and waiting until he received the tell-tale text from his brother. He left his bedroom and headed downstairs to leave, only to find a figure huddled up in a coat waiting just outside the door. Sam turned to look at him with red eyes and nose, dark bags under her eyes, and snow settled on her shoulders. Several things popped into his head as he looked her over. _Has been crying. Sleepless nights. Baggage was inside, yet she remained out here for at least an hour, if not two. Has been with a black cat recently. Looks pale._ Sherlock turned away and hailed a cab, stopping before getting in and calling over his shoulder to her.

"Are you coming?"

She didn't react for a second before shaking off some of the collective snow on her shoulders and climbing in beside him. She kept her distance, shivering somewhat despite the heater going full-pelt in the cab as they headed to Bart's.

"You were correct." He muttered, making Sam glance at him. "I upset Molly today as well as John's girlfriend."

Sam shifted her gaze away. "Sorry."

Sherlock frowned. "Why do you apologize? _I_ was the one who did not heed your warning. That was hardly your fault." He stopped then, seeing the deep emotions that Sam was holding back for him. "Same as before." He tacked on, looking away from her and out the window. "If I had paid more attention I may have noticed what was going on, but I believe you to be a fool and because of that Soo Lin Yao was killed, you were hurt and even tortured. And while I believe there are things you can tell us… I have read enough to know that telling us everything would make your… foreknowledge useless. Therefore… _I'm_ sorry."

Sam looked at him in surprise, but managed a small smile. "Thanks, but my apology still stands. I wasn't really fair to you either. I should have at least _tried_ to tell you something. Just because I believed you wouldn't listen isn't really an excuse."

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, reaching up and taking off his scarf before looping it around her neck instead. "Why were you standing outside for so long?"

She stiffened, before glancing away slightly from Sherlock's curious gaze. "I, um… didn't want to intrude, really. I may know things, but there's no real cues for when I should pop in or not. If I'd just walked in, I could have messed things up even worse with you and Molly. I knew you'd be heading to Bart's, so… I just put my stuff inside the door and waited. It… It _was_ longer than I hoped though."

She sniffed as another shiver racked her spine, curling into her coat some more.

"Listen to us." She chuckled. "Some sorry saps we are."

"You've been crying." Sherlock mentioned then and Sam winced. "Why?"

"Something goes wrong. Every Christmas." She muttered, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "Last year, they both caught the flu."

"Your brothers." Sherlock concluded and she nodded.

"They both called. My older brother's big promotion has his schedule packed tight. He assumed my other brother would keep me company, but he'd called earlier to say he had to go to California for business. I spent Christmas Eve with my cat and packing my luggage. I spent Christmas morning flying back here, knowing what was going to happen." She trailed off for a moment, before looking at him. "I can't tell you anything. I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing again." He grumbled, though not sounding pleased.

She looked down at her hands in her lap, going silent as the cab soon pulled up to Bart's. Sherlock went to get out, but she grabbed the back of his coat.

"Wait."

He raised a brow as Sam bit her lip before continuing; not looking at him, but at the ground.

"If I tell you something, could you… could you not take the cigarette?"

"What?"

"I-I know it doesn't make any sense now, but it will in a minute." She said, finally looking back at him seriously. "If you don't take it, then I promise I'll think over everything and tell you something. Something that I _can_ say, even if it's something I probably shouldn't."

He frowned, tugging her out of the cab. "And why would you do that?"

She opened her mouth, frowning and closing it, before coming to a decision. "Because I'm tired of not doing anything and if there's something I can do to help, then… then I want to help you. I want to help end this."

Sherlock watched her for a second, before releasing her upper arms and turning with a swish of his coat to walk into Bart's. Sam hesitated, but trailed after him soon enough, pulling his scarf up around her face a bit more to stay warm as they entered the building where Mycroft was waiting for them. He raised a brow at Sam's presence, but when Sherlock said nothing about her, he settled for ignoring her as well as they went silently to the morgue. Molly was there waiting for them along with a body; her having left and changed after Sherlock had disappeared from the Christmas party.

"The only one that fitted the description." Mycroft said to Sherlock. "Had her brought here. Your home from home."

"You didn't need to come in, Molly." Sherlock said, ignoring Mycroft's quip as Sam glared at the elder brother.

"That's okay." Molly said sheepishly. "Everyone else was busy with… Christmas. T-The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up. So it might be difficult." She stuttered out, giving Sam a confused glance when she saw Sherlock's scarf around her neck.

A glance that Sherlock caught.

"She's with me. Trustworthy, I assure you." He said, making Mycroft raise a brow and even Sam look a little surprised.

Molly hesitated, but nodded and pulled the sheet off the body's face.

"That's her, isn't it?" Mycroft questioned as Sam winced at the carnage in front of her.

"Show me the rest of her." Sherlock demanded and Molly grimaced herself before pulling the sheet down.

Sherlock briefly scanned the woman before answering as he walked off. "That's her."

Mycroft wasn't sure what to do for a second, before he bowed his head and thanked Molly. "Thank you, Miss Hooper."

"Who is she?" Molly asked though, making him pause. "How did Sherlock recognize her from… not her face?"

Mycroft smiled politely and turned to go, calling after Sam, who'd yet to move. "Miss Foxe, come along."

Sam looked over at his disappearing back, but turned back to Molly. "It's not for the reasons you think." She said quietly, feeling bad for the mistreated woman. "I can't tell you everything, but… she tested Sherlock and myself by walking into a room naked. Sherlock knew her measurements. _Had_ to know them to open a safe and not get John and us killed. He… He sees her as a case. That's all."

"And you?" Molly whispered, not looking jealous, but almost sad as Sam smiled bitterly.

"He thinks I work for the enemy. I'm worth even less to him than her. She's at least clever. I'm just… pulling facts from a television show."

Molly furrowed her brows in confusion, but Sam hurried out to catch up with the Holmes brothers. She skidded to a stop then, just at the door to the hall Sherlock and Mycroft were in, making to open the door only to freeze. Mycroft was holding a cigarette up. She could see from the window in the door and she waited to see what Sherlock would do.

"Smoking indoors, isn't there one of those… one of those law things?" Sherlock questioned as Mycroft continued to hold up the cigarette.

"We're in a morgue. There's only so much damage you can do." Mycroft replied with a tense smile as Sam silently questioned whether Sherlock and he had said those lines before or after Sherlock took the cigarette.

She didn't want to make her presence known though. They both had their backs to her and didn't know she was there. She wanted Sherlock to make the decision on his own, _without_ her attempting to blackmail him by standing there while he made the decision. Because that's what she was doing, essentially. Blackmailing Sherlock to behave in order to get information. And she _still_ hadn't determined what she could tell him.

"No, thank you." Sherlock said then, making Sam's eyes widen and Mycroft hesitate.

"You sure?"

Sherlock scowled at the man. " _Yes_."

Mycroft put the cigarette back as Sam finally chose to slink into the room. Sherlock spared her a brief glance before turning his gaze back out the window in front of him.

"How did you know she was dead?" Mycroft questioned then, narrowing his eyes at Sam as she sneezed off to the side. "One of Sam's little tricks."

Sam frowned at him. "Screw you." She grumbled, earning a small smirk from Sherlock that disappeared as soon as it formed.

"She had an item in her possession. One she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up." He replied to his brother, who connected the dots.

"Where is this item now?"

Crying could be heard nearby and the group turned to see a family consoling each other just past another set of doors.

"Look at them. They all care so much." Sherlock complained. "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"

Sam gave the two brothers a soft glance, making Sherlock frown in confusion as Mycroft answered.

"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." He said sternly, giving Sam a discrete look.

"But not caring at all is worse." Sam muttered, making the two turn to her. "Sorry, it's just… kind of hypocritical of you to say, Mycroft." She turned to him with a small smile. "You would be devastated if something happened to Sherlock."

Mycroft scowled and Sherlock snorted, but Sam nudged him in the side.

"And you would be too, if something happened to Mycroft or John or Mrs. Hudson or Molly." She said, stuffing her hands in her pockets as Sherlock joined his brother in scowling. "You two may be ridiculously clever, but you really should look at yourselves every once in a while."

"As should you." Sherlock quipped, making Sam raise a brow. "You didn't mention yourself in that list."

Sam looked away quickly, not wanting Sherlock to see what she thought about that, but Sherlock grabbed her arm and began to tug her along; calling out after Mycroft.

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

"And a Happy New Year." The man returned as the two walked back out into the snow and Mycroft pulled out his phone. "He's on his way."

* * *

"Sherlock!" Sam complained, attempting to keep up with his long strides in the snow as he pulled her along. "Sherlock!" She pulled her arm from his, finally, making him stop as she grumbled and rubbed at her arm. "What is it with you and the pulling me around thing?"

"You don't believe you're worth anything to John and I." Sherlock suddenly declared, turning his head slightly but not quite looking at her.

"That's… That's not what I said." Sam protested weakly and before Sherlock could argue with her, she clarified. "I said you don't care about me."

"Please, Sam." Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course—"

"No." She said sternly, shaking her head. "No, you don't. You may act like you do sometimes, but I know you don't. You and John still have your doubts about me. I can tell. And with you, I'm just an interesting case for you to solve. I have information I shouldn't and you're keeping me around until you get the answers you want. Then you'll get bored and I'll end up going back to what life I had before this, if I'm lucky. Though, between Mycroft and… him, I doubt I'll have much chance of that." She pushed the thought aside with a sigh. "What I'm saying is, I'll never be worth something to you. Not as much as John or Molly or Mrs. Hudson or even your brother and… and him. I'm just an annoying pain in your—"

Sam yelped as she was hit hard across the face and flung into the snow, sitting up and placing a cold hand on her bruising cheek to look at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"I am _tired_ of your whining and sniveling." He snapped harshly, making Sam sink into the snow as she cowered slightly from him. "You are _not_ a child. Depressed, perhaps. However, I am not about to stand here and watch you dig yourself into a pit of despair and an early grave if I can help it. Sam Foxe, you are important to me." He declared, stunning the young woman in the snow. "I brought you with me as an assistant _before_ your foreknowledge was apparent. Yes, you are a mystery to me in that regards, but I consider you just as important as John. When you left to be with your brothers for the holidays, John scolded me _repeatedly_ for calling him Sam and for playing my violin through the night because I had forgotten you were not on the couch needing music to sleep. You are rightfully clever in your own right and you have a sense of courage and I haven't the slightest idea how you have failed to recognize it. And I am willing to put aside the issues regarding your information because you chose to assist us. You nearly _died_ to keep that information safe, but are willing to share pieces with John and I. So I will not believe Moriarty until I have proof, and I will put my trust in you, that you will use your knowledge to assist us. I am beginning to understand what you have done and are going to do, Sam. But all of that will be lost if you do not stand up on your own two feet and give yourself the respect you deserve."

Sam was stunned into silence, though Sherlock saw the tears beginning to spring forth and he quickly turned his head away as he held out a hand to help her up.

"And if you cry, I will drop you right back in the snow, so I suggest you stop."

Sam let out a small chuckle, wiping her eyes once Sherlock released her. "R-Right… Thank you, Sherlock. I'll… I'll do my best."

He huffed, turning and walking to the curb as she followed, holding up his hand as he hailed a taxi, before Sam said something behind him.

"Why do murderers destroy as much of the head as they can?"

Sherlock sighed. "Typically, to hide evidence of who the person is. Surely, you already know this, so why are you—"

He stopped, hearing his own words ring in his head before he turned around to Sam, who attempted to look off to the side to hide her embarrassment.

"She's not…"

Sam didn't answer, but the look she gave him was evidence enough and he grinned at her; only for her eyes to widen.

"No!" She said loudly, before hushing herself and grabbing his arm. "You can't be happy."

His brows furrowed as she explained.

"Look, that body was faked for a reason. Irene sent you that text. She sent you the phone. So therefore—"

"She's the one who faked her own death."

Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Which means—"

"She's attempting to trick whoever's after her into thinking that she's dead."

"Right. So you need to keep acting as though you're devastated, because if not… If you don't act like you've been tricked as well, then the one after her will know. She needs proof to know that what she did worked. And if whoever is going after her is smart—smart like you—then who better to give her that proof? Trick Sherlock Holmes, and you can trick quite a few others. So you have to—"

Sherlock covered her mouth, expression solemn for the act he was going to pull off, but eyes shining in excitement. " _This_ , is the Sam I've been wanting to meet."

Sam blushed furiously before a cab pulled up and the two climbed inside; both schooling their faces into somber ones as they headed back to Baker Street. John was seated in his chair, reading a book, but he looked up when Sherlock stood at the doorway.

"Oh, hi." He said quietly as Sherlock looked around the room, keeping up the act. "You okay?"

"Hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time." Sherlock muttered, heading to his room and slamming the door.

John sighed and wiped his face with his hand, only to hear more footsteps and turn to see Sam carrying her luggage up.

"Sam! I didn't expect you to show up tonight. Does Sherlock know?" John asked, only to spot the blue scarf around her neck. "Apparently so."

She nodded, looking rather solemn as well. "I bumped into him on his way out. He's… He's upset about Irene."

John sighed with a nod. "Yeah. I know. He didn't take the fag though, so that's a plus. Was that your influence?"

Sam hesitated, but nodded as she removed Sherlock's scarf and hung it up for him. "A bit, yeah. Sorry. I should have texted you when I got in." She looked over at him then. "And if it makes you feel better, Jeanette was a jerk."

John started, looking surprised, before he remembered what Sam had told them before she left for the holidays. "Oh… Oh, you knew. You _actually_ knew."

"Tried to warn you, but it's for the best. Believe it or not, you _do_ find someone that puts up with you and Sherlock."

John looked curious now. "I do? What's she like?"

Sam shook her head with a small smile. "Can't, John. Sorry. You'll know when you find her though. She's… She's good for you."

"Good to know." John nodded, still looking curious, but sitting back in his chair thoughtfully. "How was your holiday with your brothers?"

Sam stopped setting up the couch to sleep on, before resuming; John catching the action. "Not bad, though… it was a holiday with just my cat, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm… I'm so sorry."

"It's alright." She muttered. "Happens every year. I don't know why I'm still bothered by it."

She sneezed then, two or three times, and John looked at her in concern.

"You alright? Want some tea?"

"Y-Yeah, please." She nodded, grabbing some tissues and blowing her nose. "I-It was rather chilly out."

He nodded and got up, but went over to her first and hugged her tightly. "I'm glad you're back, and I'm sure Sherlock is too."

Sam let out a shaky breath, but nodded. "Yeah, thanks. I'm glad too."

He smiled and pulled back, patting her shoulder before heading into the kitchen. "Let me warm up the kettle."


	11. Chapter 11

Violin playing echoed through the flat the next morning and John walked out to see Sherlock standing at the window, and sighed. Mrs. Hudson picked up the breakfast plates and showed John the two that hadn't been touched as John put on his coat. Sherlock lowed the violin then and wrote down some notes on a music sheet.

"Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven't heard that one before." Mrs. Hudson commented.

"You composing?" John asked, looking worried.

"Helps me to think and assists Sam in sleeping." Sherlock replied, gesturing with his bow over at the young woman covered in a blanket and sitting up on the couch; asleep.

John lowered his voice; knowing that Sam hadn't been sleeping well just by looking at her.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, as Sherlock began playing again.

Sherlock abruptly tossed his violin down and pointed at the computer where John's blog laid open.

"The counter on your blog is still stuck at 1895."

"Yeah. It's faulty. Can't seem to fix it." John said, confused by the sudden interest.

"Faulty, or you've been hacked and it's a message." Sherlock said, lifting up Irene's phone, only for a tired voice to call out.

"It's not that."

Sherlock looked at Sam who yawned and begrudgingly got up; keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"What?"

"The passcode isn't 1895." She repeated, digging through her luggage. "You'll figure it out, but you're looking at it the wrong way right now. Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, deary?"

"Sorry about skipping breakfast. Could you reheat some of it for me for when I get out of the shower?"

"Of course, dear." She replied. "Though I'm not your housekeeper."

"Yes, ma'am." Sam hummed as Sherlock interjected.

"But you can't tell me now."

Sam turned to him, furrowing her brows in thought. "Hm… I could. It'd probably get her killed if she wasn't already, but it kind of takes the fun out of figuring out the puzzle, doesn't it? You only get four chances before the phone fries it's data and I've just saved you a chance. If I just told you though, _knowing_ that you'll figure it out anyway, then I doubt you'll be pleased."

Sherlock scowled at her as she entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her; John looking a bit shocked as well.

"Has she, um… She seems different." John said as Sherlock begrudgingly put the phone back and scoped up his violin to play again. "Did you say something to her when you went out last night?"

"Simply informed her to stop doubting herself and her decisions. She's willing to give us hints now." Sherlock replied bluntly and John nodded.

"Right… Right. Well, I'm going out for a bit."

Sherlock said nothing, so John went over to where Mrs. Hudson was reheating Sam's breakfast in the kitchen.

"Listen." He says quietly. "Has he ever had any kind of… girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?"

"I don't know." The landlady replied.

"How can we not know?"

"He's Sherlock. How will we _ever_ know what goes on in that funny old head? I'm surprised he's taken such a liking in Sam. They're like peas in a pod."

John smiled a bit, glancing at the bathroom door and then back at Sherlock. "Yeah. She's good for him, I think. Off I go then."

He left and as the door closed, the violin stopped, as did the shower in the bathroom. Mrs. Hudson didn't notice, seeing as she had finished in the kitchen and returned to her own flat. The bathroom door opened, however, and Sam walked back out in the blanket; not having looked as though she'd showered at all just yet. Sherlock glanced back at her as she spoke.

"You need to hurry if you're going to follow him."

* * *

The car with John in it pulled up to an abandoned power station and he got out and followed the woman who'd tricked him, with complaints.

"Couldn't we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn't follow me everywhere."

The woman ignored his comment and gestured ahead of her. "Through there."

John glanced at her, but then hurried on, missing the woman speaking to someone on the phone.

"He's on his way. You were right. He thinks it's Mycroft."

John walked into the large room, not seeing anyone yet, but knowing they were there and calling out ahead of him.

"He's writing music. Doesn't eat. Barely talks. Only to correct the television and occasionally to Sam." He said, walking further as someone began to step out of the shadows. "I'd say he was heartbroken but, uh, well, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyw—" He trailed off as Irene walked into view with a smile.

"Hello, Doctor Watson."

They stood there, just watching each other for a few moments, before John finally got some words out.

"Tell him you're alive."

Irene shook her head. "He'd come after me."

" _I'll_ come after you if you don't."

"Mm, I believe you."

John's anger towards the woman grew. "You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you."

"DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep." Irene hummed.

"And I bet you know the record-keeper."

"I know what he likes." Irene replied. "And I needed to disappear."

"Then how come _I_ can see you and I don't even want to?"

"Look, I made a mistake." Irene said. "I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help." She paused. "I honestly should have sent it to dear Sammy. She would understand better than he would."

"No." John said, not willing to help her.

"It's for his own safety."

"So's this. Tell him you're alive." John demanded.

"I can't."

"Fine. I'll tell him and I still won't help you." John snapped, turning to walk away, but Irene stopped him.

"What do I say?"

John turned back to her furiously. "What do you _normally_ say?! You've texted him a _lot_! Sam too."

"Just the usual stuff."

"There is no 'usual' in this case."

Irene lifted her phone and began reading off the messages. "'Good morning.' I like your funny hat.' 'I'm sad tonight. Let's have dinner.'"

John looked stunned at that as she continued.

"'You looked sexy on 'Crimewatch'. Let's have dinner.' 'I'm not hungry… Let's have dinner.'"

"You… _flirted_ with Sherlock Holmes?" John said in disbelief.

" _At_ him. He never replies." Irene corrected. "Though I must admit, Sam was more than consistent." Irene looked back at her phone. "'No, I don't want dinner.' 'You're annoying.' 'Don't you have dignitaries to screw?' 'How do I fix my phone?' 'I'm going to start sending you stupid cat videos, if you don't stop texting me.' 'You shouldn't use 'dinner' as a metaphor for sex. What if I'm actually hungry?'" Irene chuckled at that one. "She has quite the responses."

"No, hold on. Sherlock _always_ replies. To _everything_. He's Mr. Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word. And Sam hardly ever sends back more than an 'OK' or a 'Sure'. She won't reply at all if she has a choice."

"Does that make me special?" Irene questioned.

"…I don't know." John said, still looking lost. "Maybe."

"Are you jealous?" Irene mused then and John scowled.

"We're not a couple."

"Then was Sam jealous?"

John scoffed. "She doesn't look at Sherlock like that. She respects him."

"Yes, but there's always a point where a crush and idolization turns to infatuation." Irene hummed, before lifting her phone. "There. 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.'"

She sent the message and John turned away from her.

"Who… Who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes and Sam, but for the record—If anyone out there still cares—I'm not actually gay."

"Well, I _am_." Irene smiled. "Look at us both."

John chuckled shortly, before a female sigh broke their laughter and John turned towards the sound of Sherlock hurrying away. Irene held out her hand to stop John from following though.

"I don't think so. Do you?"

* * *

Sherlock returned to Baker Street in a slight daze, though not as confused as one would think. Sam had told him she wasn't dead. Not directly, but enough for him to figure it out and, if anything, he was rather pleased. Or, he was, until he reached the door to 221B to find it had been forced open. _Mrs. Hudson… Sam._ He pushed open the door, feeling as though everything was moving in slow motion as he looked around and spotted cleaning supplies pushed off to the side of the hallway and Mrs. Hudson's door firmly closed. _Is she home? She usually doesn't stop cleaning midway._ Scuffmarks were on the wall beside the stairs as well as scratch marks and a dab of blood. He could imagine someone dragging another up the stairs as they struggled. He lightly touched where the victim's nail had clawed at the wall and he went up the stairs feeling anger boil in him as he realized what had happened.

He kept his feelings well contained as he walked into his flat to find Sam slumped over in a chair, breathing heavily with her wrists tied behind her back. Behind her, stood Neilson and two other CIA agents from Irene's home with all three armed; Neilson with his gun pressed to the back of Sam's neck and one of the other men with a bleeding nose. Sherlock remained as calm and collected as he could, while Neilson spoke.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" Sherlock hummed, moving closer to Sam and tipping her head up.

She had a cut across her eyebrow that was freely bleeding over her right eye as well as a dark bruise on her jaw and a split lip.

"I've been asking this one. She says she doesn't know anything, but we all know that's not true."

"She only just got here yesterday." Sherlock informed him, looking up at Neilson.

"You know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock kept spotting things though. The cut along Sam's cheek probably from Neilson's ring. The tear in her sweater sleeve, and the calm, determined look in her eyes. Sam wasn't afraid of them, and that nearly made him smile. He caught sight of Neilson's weak points, a plan already forming in his head as he stood tall.

"I believe I do. First, get rid of your boys."

"Why?" Neilson questioned, suspicious.

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room."

Neilson begrudgingly turned to his companions. "You two. Go to the car."

"Then get in the car and drive away." Sherlock ordered. "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't _work_."

The two left and Sherlock continued.

"Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me?" Neilson accused and Sherlock stepped back and spread his arms.

"I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist." Sherlock said simply and Neilson headed over, lifting Sherlock's coat before moving around him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the move and slipped a hand in his coat before turning around and spraying a stunned Neilson in the eyes with cleaning spray. He then head-butted the man, knocking him unconscious before flipping the can of spray and setting it down.

"Moron."

He went over to Sam then, brushing a hand over her cheek and making her wince as she spoke quietly.

"You're late."

"Apologies." He hummed, glaring back at Neilson's prone form briefly before going to untie Sam. "Where's Mrs. Hudson? She never stops in the middle of her cleaning."

"I…" Sam licked her split lip with a cringe as Sherlock untied her and she was able to bring her hands forward. "I convinced her to head to the shops." She glanced at him with a small smile. "We were out of milk."

He furrowed his brows. "No. There's some in the fridge. John bought a gallon a few days ago."

"Whoops." Sam chuckled, before cringing and grabbing her shoulder.

Sherlock tugged at the collar of her shirt, looking over her shoulder to see dark bruising forming there as well, before something came to him.

"You knew this was going to happen. You got rid of the milk."

"Couldn't let Mrs. Hudson get caught up in this mess." Sam sighed. "I can pay for the milk."

Sherlock chuckled slightly. "Forget about the milk, Sam…" He paused, looking her over and seeing exhaustion but a small smile of proudness on her face and he leaned in and kissed her forehead; surprising her. "Thank you."

She blinked in shock, before Sherlock stood and offered her his hand.

"I'll be needing that chair. Do you need assistance in walking?"

She accepted the hand up and stood with a cringe, but managed to make it over to the couch without much issue as Sherlock hefted up Neilson and dropped him roughly into the chair she'd been occupying.

"We'll have John look you over once he returns. I'll grab you an ice pack for your knuckles and a cloth for your face as well."

Sam sighed, leaning back against the couch stiffly. "Right…"

* * *

John got out of Irene's black car and headed up to the door only to see a note stuck to the outside.

 _Crime in progress._

 _Please disturb._

Fearing the worst, John hurried up the stairs and burst into 221B.

"What's going on?"

He stiffened at the sight of the angry Neilson who was tied up and gaged with a bleeding nose in the middle of the main room.

"Geeze, what the hell is happening?"

"Sam has been attacked by an American while simultaneously preventing the same from having happened to Mrs. Hudson."

John turned and spotted Sam sitting on the couch with an ice pack on her knuckles and a number of cuts and bruises.

"Oh my God, Sam. Are you alright?" John asked, looking at her in concern before glaring at Neilson. "Jesus, what have they done to you? And what's this about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Later." Sam grumbled.

Sherlock though, stood; gun aimed at Neilson and a phone up to his ear. "Downstairs. Take her downstairs and look after her. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson won't mind you borrowing her flat. The spare key is under the potted plant outside her door."

"Alright. Sure." John said, helping Sam up and out the door, pausing to speak with Sherlock, but Sam called after him.

"I'll explain downstairs, John."

"Yes. Yes, alright." John said, trailing after her as Sherlock spoke into his phone.

"Lestrade, we've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance." Sherlock hummed as he set the gun down. "Oh, no, no, no, no. We're fine. Sam's a little rough around the edges, but John's taking care of that. No, it's the uh… It's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured."

Neilson paled as Sherlock continued.

"Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull… suspected punctured lung." Sherlock mused, glancing at the quickly panicking CIA agent. "He fell out of a window."

* * *

I sat and cringed as John dabbed at the cut on my eyebrow with an alcohol swab.

"So? What happened?" John hummed as he stopped and reached around for some plaster for my injury.

"The American's want Irene's phone. They believe Sherlock has it, so they broke in to get it." I said simply as John place butterfly closures across the cut.

"And Mrs. Hudson?"

"Sent her to get milk. Dumped yours. Sorry."

John opened his mouth, brows furrowed in confusion, before closing it and shaking his head. "What?"

I sighed. "John, I knew this was going to happen. I sent Mrs. Hudson out so she wouldn't get caught up in this."

John looked shocked. "But… But why didn't you leave?"

"And have them ransack the place?" I scoffed. "Please."

" _Sam_."

"I'm _kidding_." I sighed, grimacing as John shifted my arm around to check my injured shoulder. "Sherlock's an idiot and left Irene's phone. If they searched, they would have gotten it. I would have figured out a way to get out unharmed, but I was hard pressed on time."

There was a loud noise then and we both glanced out the window as a pained groan came from outside.

"That's on Mrs. Hudson's bins." I hummed. "She won't be pleased about that."

John sighed and went about getting some tea ready and it wasn't long before the noises of Neilson falling repeatedly out of the second story window faded and sirens approached. Mrs. Hudson was the first to walk in though, getting a quick breakdown of what happened from John before she coddled over me. It was nice, after the rather lonely Christmas break I'd had, but it wasn't long before Sherlock entered the room.

"We need to look after Sam, Sherlock. She can use my bed."

"Well, she's fine." Sherlock pressed as he got a mince pie from the fridge.

"No, she's not." John pressed. "And Mrs. Hudson, you should take some time away from Baker Street. You can go and stay with your sister. Doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock scoffed.

"Sherlock, Sam was attacked over some bloody stupid camera phone." John complained, before frowning. "Where is it, anyway?"

"With someone safe." Sherlock glanced down at me and I rolled my eyes.

"You're lucky I knew where it was. Second-best dressing gown. You're a moron. I hope you know that." I complained, reaching down my shirt and pulling it out. "You're lucky Mrs. Hudson didn't accidentally put it in the wash."

He managed a small smile at that, taking it from me and putting it in his coat before giving John a look. "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on _me_?!" John exclaimed, still in a bit of shock himself over the whole mess as Sherlock wrapped an arm around Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall."

She chuckled lightly and even John managed a smile before the three of us headed upstairs to give Mrs. Hudson back the privacy of her flat. Sherlock went to go hide the phone though, but was quick to return as John made more tea for us.

"Where is it now?" He asked Sherlock.

"Where no one will look." Sherlock answered simply, picking up his violin and standing at the window.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures." John said.

"Yes, it is." He hummed, tuning his violin.

John changed the subject. "So, she's alive then. How are we feeling about that?"

Sherlock glanced briefly at me, but I looked back tiredly. He said nothing about the two of us already knowing, and then Big Ben chimed.

"Happy New Year, John, Sam."

John ignored the greeting. "Do you think you'll be seeing her again?"

Sherlock turned and flipped his bow before beginning to play. Getting the hint, John took a seat and settled in for some reading before retiring to bed. Sherlock continued to play though, beginning to lull me to sleep with the soft tunes. That did nothing, however, to quell the coming nightmares.

* * *

Some time had passed since New Year's, and Sam had settled into Baker Street even more so. She was allowed to rest in Sherlock's bed when the man himself couldn't sleep and he would occasionally assign her cases now as well, to test her intellect rather than her foreknowledge. John was impressed with the dynamic the two had set up and silently wondered what would happen when Sam's year in England was up. It was a hard thing to forget, that her time with them was only temporary, but he knew she had a life outside of Baker Street. It was only a matter of time. They made the best of it though and John enjoyed her company while shopping, as well as on cases. She managed to balance out Sherlock's rudeness rather well, and kept it to a minimum when she could. Even Mrs. Hudson had warmed up to the young woman, who had begun attempting to work out English cooking.

After a while though, something changed. Sherlock and John both caught it around the same time. Sam had begun to get antsy about something, and they wouldn't find out what it was until sometime later, when the group entered the flat to find Sherlock staring at his bed in stunned silence.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, but Sam stayed at the entrance to the hall with a small frown on her face.

"We have a client."

"What? In your bedroom?" John scoffed, only to understand when he went over to see Irene sleeping in Sherlock's bed. "Oh."

Sherlock left it to John to wake her up and the woman went to shower first and get comfortable. Sherlock though, turned to Sam as she put away some of the groceries.

"Anything I should know about?" Sherlock asked her and she flinched, turning to glance back at him as she placed a can on the shelf in the cupboard above her.

"Um, well…" She lowered her arms and turned around to lean up against the counter with a frown. "Hm… I would say…" Sam looked up and Sherlock frowned at the serious expression on her face; one he hadn't seen in a long while. "Be careful what you give her and how much."

Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion. "Talking in riddles now?"

Sam shrugged, lightening up and acting more like her relaxed self; which Sherlock had been seeing more of in the past few months thanks to his words on Christmas Day. "I'm being general. There's more than one 'what' that you're giving her, but being more specific could ruin a lot of things and make people like your brother and the CIA very unhappy. Well, more than they have been, lately."

Sherlock hummed in understanding, and went into the living room to await Irene. John helped Sam though, and they soon made up some tea before also taking their seats; Sam sitting in Sherlock's chair so Irene couldn't. The woman soon came out, dressed in some of Sam's spare clothes, surprisingly, and smirked at her upon seeing the seating arrangements.

"Ooh, look at you." Irene hummed. "You've certainly changed since I last saw you. The boys have done you some good."

Sam didn't answer, simply sipping at her tea with her eyes closed as Irene went to sit in John's chair instead. Sherlock was the first to question her though, keeping a close watch on the interaction between Irene and Sam. Their somewhat friendly relationship bothered him even now.

"So, who's after you?"

"People who want to kill me." Irene replied easily.

"Who's that?"

"Killers."

Sam sighed softly, earning a smirk from Irene.

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific." John pressed, but Sam gave Sherlock a look and he changed the subject slightly.

"So, you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them."

"It worked for a while." She said with a small shrug.

"Except you let John know that you were alive and therefore Sam and I."

"I knew _you'd_ keep my secret."

" _You_ couldn't."

"But you _did_ , didn't you?" Irene hummed. "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here. We're not stupid." John said confidently.

"Then what have you done with it?" Irene asked. "If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on Strand a few months ago." Sherlock mused.

"I need it." Irene insisted.

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" John said, before his eyes lit up with excitement as he turned to Sherlock. "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart's; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

Sherlock smiled. "Very good, John. Excellent plan with intelligent precautions."

"Thank you." John smiled proudly.

"Except, we _are_ stupid." Sam said then, making John blink.

"What?"

Sam pointed at Sherlock, who pulled the phone out of his pocket. "He _did_ open a safety deposit box, because they'd be expecting him to protect it better. They _didn't_ expect him to simply keep it in the place that was just searched for it. Nobody double-checks things anymore."

Irene stood as Sherlock flipped the phone in his hand.

"So, what do you keep on here? In general, I mean."

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"What? For blackmail?" John asked.

"For protection." She corrected. "I make my way in the world. I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"Find a better job?" Sam offered, earning a small smile of amusement from Sherlock.

"So, how do you acquire this information?" He asked.

"I told you. I misbehave."

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, but I don't understand it."

"I assumed. Show me."

Irene held out her hand for the phone, but Sherlock held it up out of her reach.

"The passcode."

Irene didn't budge and Sherlock soon handed her the phone. She punched in the passcode, but the phone beeped.

"It's not working."

Sherlock took it from her. "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers 1058." He said, pulling out her real phone from between the cushions of his chair, which made Sam sigh. "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway."

"Won't work." Sam chimed in, making Irene raise a brow and Sherlock to scowl; punching in the numbers anyway.

The phone beeped again, declaring his error as Irene explained.

"I _told_ you that my camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand."

"Oh, you're rather good." Sherlock complimented.

"I'd say you weren't so bad yourself, except…" She turned to Sam. "Seems Sam knows more here than she's letting on."

Sam shrugged and Irene turned back to Sherlock and held out her hand for her phone. The two locked eyes for a bit, as Sherlock handed it over and John cleared his throat to interrupt the tense staring contest.

"Hamish." He said, drawing their attention to him. "John Hamish Watson. Just… if you're looking for baby names."

Sherlock frowned, lost, but Irene brought things back on track.

"There was a man. An MOD official. I knew what he liked." She hummed, stepping away so she could put in the code for her phone, bringing up a photo. "One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it." She passed it to Sherlock as he sat down. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen. Can you read it?"

"Yes."

"Code, obviously." Irene went on as he looked it over. "I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it. Though he was mostly upside-down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out. What can _you_ do, Mr. Holmes?" Irene leaned over his shoulder as Sam stiffened in her chair and bit her tongue to keep quiet. "Go on. Impress a girl."

Irene smirked over at Sam, who narrowed her eyes at the woman as she leaned in and kissed Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock glanced her way and then his eyes locked on Sam, who had turned away at some point, before he spoke.

"There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment. I've only been on the case for eight seconds." He spat out quickly, brows furrowed as he caught sight of Sam wincing; a hint of her more reserved self showing.

He glanced at the other two in the room and they looked lost, so he sighed.

"Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look." He showed the screen to John, explaining his thinking process rapidly to save time. "There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'. No letters past 'K'. The width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place. Families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number—007—that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent. The only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

He stood up and looked over at Irene, who was staring at him hungrily.

"Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice." She said instead and Sherlock's gaze again returned to Sam for a brief moment.

Irene hadn't missed the action.

"John, please can you check those flight schedules? See if I'm right?"

John took a second, before responding. "Uh-huh. I'm on it. Yeah."

Sherlock then spoke to Irene. "I've never begged for mercy in my life."

" _Twice_." Irene pressed as John cut in.

"Uh, yeah. You're right. Uh, flight double oh seven."

Sherlock whipped around at that. "What did you say?"

"You're right?" John repeated, confused.

"No, no, no. After that. What did you say after that?"

"Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven."

Sherlock began to mumble to himself, confused as to why that phrase bothered him. "Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven. Something… Something connected to double oh seven. What?"

Irene watched him pace for a second, before her eyes shifted to Sam, who just stared blankly. Almost disappointed in her, which made her frown. Sherlock glanced at the front door then and stopped, remembering overhearing his brother's conversation over the phone. His eyes widened, realizing he'd made a mistake and hearing Sam's earlier words echo in his thoughts.

" _Be careful what you give her and how much."_

He turned to Sam as understanding dawned on him, but was surprised to see her look sad. Overbearingly so. He opened his mouth to ask, but closed it; knowing to do so in the company of Irene wouldn't get anything from Sam. He felt a sense of disappointment from her as well, as she stood up then and moved around him.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"Out." She muttered in response, pulling on a hoodie and a coat he'd gotten her for Christmas under John's pressuring. "I need a smoke."

He couldn't really stop her and his mind was soon taken over by his brother's voice and the plan he may have just ruined.

* * *

I stuck a cigarette in my mouth and lit it with a grumble of frustration. _This_ was one of the moments I hadn't wanted to happen. There was nothing I could do to stop it though. If Moriarty didn't stop the plane from being used, then Sherlock wouldn't have learned anything from trusting Irene and she would have most likely been killed. She was important to him and as much as his brother would be furious with Sherlock, I knew they would all work through it. So I had to convince myself it was better this way.

Sherlock had made me better. I wasn't doubting myself as much lately, but I knew that when Moriarty came back, I might not be able to keep it up. I _still_ couldn't say his name out loud and the nightmares—though fewer in number now—still happened often. And then there was the Fall coming up and I'd be leaving England too. My year abroad was coming to an end soon and once that happened, I was unsure about what I was going to do. Sherlock would be gone for two years, after all. If he still saw me useful after that, it'd be a miracle. But for the upcoming two years, I would need to figure out something to do and right now, I couldn't even figure out what I was going to do about the Fall.

I sighed heavily, blowing out the smoke from my lungs and stomping out the end of my cigarette; preparing to light another one if it hadn't been for the figure that walked up to me in a suit.

"Sam Foxe."

I looked up and frowned. "What? What does Mycroft want with me?"

The man said nothing, just opening the car door of a vehicle that had pulled up. I didn't move though, suspicion _also_ having grown on me.

"How do I know you're working for Mycroft and not someone else? John already made that mistake."

My phone buzzed then and I cautiously took it out, not taking my eyes off the large man until the last second.

 _Get in the car, Sam._

 _-MH_

I huffed, removing the cigarette from my mouth and returning it to the box in my pocket before giving in and heading for the car. Once in, I didn't bother questioning where I was going or why Mycroft wanted me. I knew they wouldn't answer. The trip took a while though, but once we were at a building I didn't recognize, I was rather confused. It wasn't the typical abandoned warehouses. It was rather fancy and I was led through a number of hallways, before being brought to a room that _was_ familiar.

Mycroft sat at the head of a table, looking worn out and exhausted. His coat was no longer on and his eyes were sharp in a way I hadn't seen them before, and I began to grow concerned. This was _not_ the man I had confronted before. This was Mycroft Holmes when he was angry. And _I_ was the target of that anger.

"What's going on?" I asked hesitantly as Mycroft laced his fingers under his chin.

"Oh, I think you know."

I fidgeted as he continued.

"Miss Adler had to get that information from somewhere. As did Moriarty." He said, standing and walking around the table towards me as I shrank into myself. " _You_ seem to be the prime candidate, seeing as you know more than you should and I've _yet_ to hear whatever excuse you've given my brother."

"I didn't tell Irene anything." I protested. "She showed Sherlock the info she'd gotten and he wanted to impress her. That's hardly my fault."

"Yes, well, if you _knew_ about it, you could have stopped her. Stopped them both actually. And yet, I still get a text from your friend informing me that the jig is up, as you say."

"He's not my friend." I argued, wincing at the harshness of my tone when Mycroft glared down at me. "And there was nothing I could have done to stop them."

Mycroft smiled sickly sweet. "Oh, I hardly believe that. You made sure Mrs. Hudson was out of danger, after all. Surely shutting Miss Adler up would have been very little trouble for you."

"No. You don't understand." I pressed, but he suddenly shouted.

" _You_ don't understand!"

I stumbled back, tripping over my own two feet as he towered over me threateningly, voice calming down and making things that much worse.

"You see, Sam, thanks to you and my brother, there is a plane that won't fly. Said plane would have been used to save hundreds of lives, but instead, it will _never_ fly because _you_ decided that you could play God in this situation. My _brother_ is in the line of fire now and I'm stuck doing what I can to keep him out of it and right now, you're looking like the next best thing. Because _you_ , Sam, have information that no one knows how you acquired. Information that could save and end lives depending on how it is used. Extracting that information wouldn't be a problem. Moriarty knew that."

I could feel my breath catching in my throat as Mycroft stared me down and my back hit the door.

"So you see, my dilemma is, should I risk trying to protect my brother through the usual means, or should I do it by throwing you to the wolves? I'm sure keeping you tied down with the British government would prove beneficial and the American's wouldn't notice if some student who was enjoying Britain on a school trip suddenly went missing. It would take ages just for your own _brothers_ to realize what happened, with their work getting in the way. Because I'm done playing nice with you, Sam." He snapped sharply; my panicked breaths ringing in my own ears. "I don't care _how_ infatuated my brother is with you, it's about time you learn what happens when you cross me."


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock looked around the darkened interior of a seven-forty-seven jet that he'd been brought to under Mycroft's orders. He could see in the dim light from outside, the countless people sitting in each row, but they made no reaction to him. He clicked on an overhead light and got a better look, realizing then, that they were already dead.

"The Coventry conundrum." Mycroft said then, making Sherlock turn as his brother stepped out into the cabin. "What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead."

Sherlock looked around, understanding dawning on him. "The plan blows up, mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies."

"Neat, don't you think?"

Sherlock forced a smile.

"You've been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too bored to notice the pattern?"

Sherlock remembered a number of cases. One with a little girl and another with a man and an urn.

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight." Mycroft hinted, reminding Sherlock of the man in the back of a car they found. "But that's the deceased for you. Late, in every sense of the word."

"How's the plane going to fly?" Sherlock asked, before quickly answering himself. "Of course. Unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It _doesn't_ fly." Mycroft snapped at him, making him pause. "It will _never_ fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

"Your MOD man." Sherlock concluded.

"That's all it takes." Mycroft declared. "One lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

"Hm. You should screen your defense people more carefully."

"I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock. I'm talking about _you_." Mycroft growled, stamping his umbrella against the floor. "The damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook. The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption. Then give him a puzzle and watch him dance."

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock argued.

"Absurd?" Mycroft stopped then. "Was Sam lying when she said you told Miss Adler about the plans then? She obviously didn't prevent this from happening, so she must have been playing some part, yes?"

Sherlock stiffened. "She had nothing to do with this."

"So you say, but how quickly did you decipher that email for Miss Adler? Was it the full minute, or were you _really_ eager to impress?"

Irene walked in then from behind Sherlock, smirking. "I think it was less than five seconds."

Sherlock whipped around and Mycroft spoke solemnly.

"I drove you into her path. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Mr. Holmes. I think we need to talk." Irene said, beginning to saunter over.

"So do I." Sherlock replied. "There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on."

Irene walked right past him though. "Not you, junior. You're done now." She brushed him off, showing Mycroft her phone. "There's more. Loads more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Unable to argue with her, the group left the plane and went to Mycroft's office, where a familiar young woman sat in a chair quietly.

"Sam, what are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, before seeing the handcuffs on her wrists and the defeated look in her eyes; making Sherlock immediately round on his brother. "Mycroft, what's going on?"

"Not _now_ , Sherlock. There are more pressing matters to deal with." His brother snapped at him and Sherlock went to argue, but Sam spoke up.

"It's fine, Sherlock." She said, attempting a small smile. "Really, just…" She glanced briefly at Irene. "Remember what I told you. She's the key to all of this."

Sherlock frowned in confusion, but turned away from the group angrily as Irene and Mycroft began discussing the phone.

"We have people who can get into this." Mycroft tried.

"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months." Irene said confidently. "Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera phone."

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive." He said bluntly as Mycroft lowered his head into his hands. "Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

"Explosive." Irene corrected. "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable." Mycroft tried.

"Take that risk?"

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you." Mycroft said, growing tenser by the second as Sam flinched in her chair nearby.

"Sherlock?" Irene chimed and he responded.

"There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."

"He's good, isn't he?" Irene hummed. "I should have him on a leash. In fact, I _might_."

"We destroy this then. No one has the information."

"Fine. Good idea." Irene praised, before going on. "Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?"

"Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." Irene threatened, pulling an envelope out of her purse and sliding it across the table to him. "A list of my requests and some ideas about my protection once they're granted. I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying. I imagine you'd like to sleep on it?"

Mycroft, looking over the list in shock, nodded slightly. "Thank you, yes."

"Too bad." Irene said, making him look up as Sherlock smirked slightly. "Off you pop and talk to people."

Mycroft sank back in his chair. "You've been very… thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help." Irene said, looking over at Sam. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Sherlock raised his head as Sam grimaced, wringing her hands and making the handcuffs rattle.

"Yes." Mycroft grumbled. "He's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention, which I'm sure can be arranged."

Irene stood and walked around to sit on the table by Mycroft. "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man…" She looked over at Sherlock. "…and the Virgin."

She stood again, wandering around the table and over to Sam. "And then there's his dear Sammy. How's the shoulder?"

Sam turned her head away, but Irene reached down and grabbed her chin, making her face her.

"Nasty scar you've go there on your eyebrow, but he'll be glad to hear you're doing so well."

"Fuck you." Sam snapped, regaining some courage, though Irene took it in stride as she leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, I plan to." She got up and walked back towards Mycroft though, looking proud of herself for making Sam shiver. "Didn't even ask for anything. I think Moriarty just likes to cause trouble. Now _that's_ my kind of man."

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played." Mycroft said, standing up, but only to smirk down at Irene. "That is what I would say, however, it seems you forgot a player in this little game of yours."

Irene frowned. "What?"

"Sam?" Mycroft called out, looking over at the young woman who grimaced at the sound of her name. "Would you like to speak now?"

Sam grit her teeth as Sherlock frowned and actually turned in his chair to see what was going on; his mind still going rampant on what he could do to fix this.

"No." She snapped.

"Need I remind you just what, exactly, is on the line here?" Mycroft pressed and Irene looked between the two in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see, it seems to me that Moriarty was keeping a secret from you, Miss Adler." Mycroft said, walking over to Sam and lifting her up onto her feet by her arm before bringing her over. "Because Sam here, knows quite a bit more than you think."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he realized what had happened between Mycroft and Sam during his blunder with Irene. Even Irene looked concerned now.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well, I believe it's safe to assume that Sam knows the passcode to your phone. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam closed her eyes and bit out a single word. "Yes."

"Therefore, Miss Adler, you lost the moment you gave me your phone." Mycroft smirked as Irene's face fell. "Moriarty has apparently sent you on a suicide mission."

"No. That can't be." Irene breathed out, but Mycroft smiled.

"Go on, Sam. Say it."

Sam clenched her eyes shut and took in a shaky breath, but then, Sherlock got it.

"No."

All eyes went to him; Sam's brimmed with tears.

"Sorry?" Mycroft questioned.

"I said no. Very, very close, but no." Sherlock repeated as he stood and walked towards Irene. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

"No such thing as too much." Irene argued, but Sherlock stood, towering over her and glaring down at the woman in a way that made Irene suddenly feel nervous.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But sentiment? Sentiment is the chemical defect found in the losing side." Sherlock snapped.

"Sentiment? What are you talking about?"

"You."

Irene smiled, though she looked anything but calm with how things were turning out. "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

"No." Sherlock said, leaning in towards her, taking her wrist. "Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils, dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive. When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements. But this." He took the phone from Mycroft and flipped it in the air. "This is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should _never_ let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for, but you couldn't resist it, could you?"

Irene looked devastated, realizing now that her plan was ruined by both brothers, by Sam, and by Moriarty.

"Sam, your words to me, your warning." Sherlock said then, making Sam look at him. "Thank you for that. I'm… sorry, I didn't care to listen until now. Miss Adler is the key, as you said. And I'm not about to let Moriarty or _anyone_ get their hands on you." He snapped, glaring at his brother, who looked surprised at Sherlock's declaration of war. "I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage." He said then, turning back to Irene. "Thank you for the final proof."

"Everything I said. It's not real. I was just playing the game." Irene whispered and Sherlock's gaze hardened.

"I know, but the moment Sam gets dragged in, is the moment I make sure it _stops_. This is you losing."

He held up the phone, displaying the answer to the locked screen.

 _I am_

 _SHER_

 _Locked_

Mycroft went to take the phone from Sherlock, but the man held it out of his reach with a glare.

"Let her go."

"What?" Mycroft questioned.

"You heard me. If you want this phone, then release Sam. Pardon her for whatever crimes you're attempting to arrest her on and cease on threatening her brothers as well. If you don't, I will destroy this phone right now. Do not _test_ me on that, brother."

Mycroft stiffened, unused to seeing this side of Sherlock aimed at him, but begrudgingly nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key for the cuffs, releasing Sam and allowing her to move away from him before Sherlock passed over the phone; tucking the young woman behind him protectively.

"I'll not have you attacking my companions again, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped and his brother nodded sharply, glancing at Sam, who didn't even look his way. "And if you're feeling kind to Miss Adler, lock her up. Otherwise, let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."

Irene looked at him in shock, stunned to see how the man cared so much to save Sam by threatening his own brother, but was willing to throw her to the dogs.

"Are you expecting me to beg?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied and Irene swallowed her pride.

"Please." She murmured. "You're right. I won't even last six months."

"Sorry about dinner." Sherlock snipped harshly, turning away and wrapping an arm around Sam; leading her out.

* * *

"Why did you do that?" I muttered in the cab; Sherlock's coat draped over me as the shock began to wear off and my shoulders slowly stopped shaking.

"I do believe I have already answered this question before. Christmas Day, if I remember correctly." Sherlock grumbled.

"Yeah, but…" I paused, trying to think up the right thing to say. "He was right. I didn't try to stop you. This mess was partially my fault."

"Hardly. This is Moriarty's fault." Sherlock said bitterly. "He manipulated Irene into doing this—though she was a willing party at some point—and that is why Mycroft's plan was ruined. You not stopping it was hardly of consequence. They would have simply found another way to do it otherwise. However, I do believe we have a new problem on our hands."

"What?"

Sherlock looked over at me. "Mycroft knows about your foreknowledge. He just informed Miss Adler how _well_ that foreknowledge works. She is under Moriarty's control. It would be easy for him to discover the truth behind this and come after you once again."

I winced, looking away and shivering again as memories of what happened threatened to shorten my breathing. "P-Please don't remind me."

Sherlock said nothing, waiting for me to calm down.

"He… He already knows I have information I'm not supposed to. The… The only reason he tortured me, was because I let something slip. Shan, she… she was a part of his influence too. Another one of his cases."

Sherlock's eyes widened, having not known that.

"I accidentally let that slip. He was just going to use me like John with the bomb jacket before that, I think." I explained, unsure why I was telling him this now, but my nerves were fried and I hardly knew what I was saying anymore. "S-So he knows that I have information that could be valuable to him. I, um…" I paused, regretting what I was about to say. "I-I got texts from him over winter break. Him teasing me a-about my brothers not being around and… letting me know that just because I was in New York, I wasn't out of his reach. I didn't tell you because I-I wasn't sure if I could. The last thing I want is him coming after you."

"He's already coming after me, Sam." Sherlock pressed and I sighed, nodding and knowing that he was right.

"I'm just… worried, is all. I know how bad things are going to get and…" I looked up at him in concern. "It's not good, Sherlock."

"Then we'll plan ahead and make sure the outcome _is_ good." He concluded as the cab pulled up to Baker Street. "Now come on. I have an experiment to work on in the kitchen."

I managed a small smile, nodding and coming up after him. "Right."

* * *

"Clearly, you've got news." Sherlock said into his microscope, startling Sam awake from her dozing at the kitchen table as John walked in; having just had a talk with Mycroft about Irene. "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring." He muttered the ending as John hesitantly stepped into the room.

"Hi. Uh, no. It's, um…" He shuffled as Sam yawned and pawed tiredly at her eyes. "It's about Irene Adler."

Sherlock glanced up and Sam even turned to face him.

"Oh? Something happened? Has she come back?"

"No, she's, uh… I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call." John said, upon seeing Sam stiffen.

He'd heard what had happened to her with the older Holmes brother and had made sure the chew the man out downstairs as well for that.

"Is she back in London?" Sherlock repeated, attempting to steer the conversation away from Mycroft as he stood.

"No. She's, uh…" John struggled to lie to Sherlock before managing to control himself and reply. "She's in America."

"America?" Sherlock said with a frown.

"Mm-hm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but… uh, well, you know."

"I know what?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you won't be able to see her again."

Sherlock frowned. "Why would I want to see her again?"

John forced a smile. "Didn't say you did."

Sherlock then noticed the things John had with him, sitting back down as Sam got up to make tea. "Is that her file?"

"Yes. I was just going to take it back to Mycroft." He offered it to Sherlock. "Do you want to…"

"No."

John hummed, not entirely believing that. "Listen, actually—"

"Oh, but I will have the camera phone then." Sherlock replied suddenly, holding out his hand, but not lifting his gaze from the lenses of his microscope.

"There's nothing on it anymore. It's been stripped."

"I know, but I…" Sherlock paused. "I'll still have it."

"I've got to give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it."

"John, just give it to him." Sam grumbled, setting down Sherlock's mug next to him and moving back to her own seat tiredly. "The government will just toss it anyway. As you said, it's been stripped. It's useless to them now."

John hesitated, but then Sherlock extended his hand a bit further.

"Please."

John begrudgingly gave in and passed it over, allowing Sherlock to tuck it into his pocket.

"Thank you."

John awkwardly nodded and lifted the package with the rest of Irene's files. "Well, I'd better take this back."

"Yes."

John started to go, but paused, turning back around for one last question. "Did she ever text you again after… all that? Either of you?"

"Yes." Sam murmured as Sherlock was more specific.

"Once a few months ago."

"What did she say?"

"'Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.'" Sherlock replied as Sam answered soon after.

"'Goodbye, Sammy.'"

"Huh…" John muttered, before soon heading out.

Once gone, Sherlock raised his head and pulled out his phone, looking over all the messages Irene sent him as he walked to the living room window and looked out into the rain.

"He doesn't know, does he?" He called back to Sam, who had moved to lean against the frame of the kitchen entry.

"John, no. Your brother, probably not. Mo…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them. "Moriarty, I don't know."

Sherlock chuckled, flipping Irene's phone and placing it in a drawer of his filing cabinet. "The woman… _The_ woman."


	13. Chapter 13

The door slammed shut as someone entered 221B and John looked up from what he was doing to raise a brow at Sherlock as he entered; covered in blood and holding a harpoon with a scowl.

"Well, that was tedious." Sherlock complained and John took a moment before speaking.

"You went on the tube like that?"

"None of the cabs would take me." He complained, and more steps hurried up the stairs, making John lean forward to see a panting Sam; also covered in blood. "About time. Do you have what I told you?"

She nodded, doubled over with a hand on her knee to catch her breath as the other hand held up a notebook. "Y-Yeah. All observations written."

"Good. I get the bathroom first."

Sam groaned, but consented, dropping the notebook off on the table next to Sherlock's chair and calling out to Sherlock. "Can I at least get a towel so I don't get blood on the couch?!"

A blue towel was thrown out and over her head, making her lift the end with a frown.

"Gee, thanks."

"Welcome." Sherlock piped up, moving to the bathroom to shower.

John glanced at Sam as she settled down on the couch and pulled out her laptop; only to stare at the screen with a long, annoyed expression.

"Something wrong? Well, other than the fact that you're stuck in those clothes."

"My professor told me I've got a ten-page paper to write on my experience with you guys and I've got writer's block. I've only done maybe half a page and I got the assignment a week ago."

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

Sam hummed, brows furrowed and she continued to scowl at her laptop until Sherlock came out of the shower and gave her a chance. He chose to use that time, however, pacing anxiously with his harpoon after demanding John search the papers for a case.

"Nothing?"

"Military coup in Uganda." John rattled off, earning bored hums from Sherlock. "Another photo of you with the, uh…" He showed Sherlock the picture of him in the deerstalker, before picking up a different paper. "Oh, um, cabinet reshuffle."

"Nothing of importance? Oh, God!" He shouted, slamming his harpoon into the floor before turning to John. "John, I need some. Get me some."

"No." John said simply.

"Get me some." Sherlock snapped, but John repeated himself sternly.

"No. Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what. Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two-mile radius will sell you any. And don't bother asking Sam. She's been cut off as well."

"Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?" Sherlock complained as John cleared his throat and gave him a pointed look; frustrating him further. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Look, Sherlock, you and Sam are doing really well. Don't give up now." John attempted as Sherlock began searching the flat for a hidden pack of cigarettes by making a mess.

"Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me." Sherlock said, stopping and turning to him with a more pitiful expression. "Please."

John didn't take the bait. "Can't help, sorry."

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers." Sherlock tried bribing, making John chuckle. "Well, it was worth a try."

Sherlock dove to the fireplace and upturned the objects there, searching the inside of a shoe as Mrs. Hudson walked in.

"Ooh, ooh."

Sherlock rounded on her. "My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?"

"Eh?"

"Cigarettes!" Sherlock snapped. "What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You know you never let me touch your things." Ms. Hudson complained, spotting the mess he was making. "Oh, chance would be a fine thing."

"I thought you _weren't_ my housekeeper." Sherlock argued.

"I'm not."

Sherlock let out frustrated noise, moving to grab his harpoon as John made a motion to Mrs. Hudson.

"How about a nice cuppa and perhaps you could put away your harpoon." She called out.

"I need something _stronger_ than tea. Seven per _cent_ stronger." Sherlock complained, turning around and pointing the harpoon at her. "You've been to see Mr. Chatterjee again."

"Pardon?"

Sherlock looked her over easily. "Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking."

"Sherlock." John scolded, hearing the shower cut off in the bathroom and hoping that Sam would come out and stop the rampaging man somehow.

She always seemed to have a better understanding of him anyway.

"Thumbnail, tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don't we?" Sherlock chided, before inhaling deeply. "Mm, Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website. You should look it up."

" _Please_." Mrs. Hudson tried, also giving the bathroom door a brief glance.

"I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He's—" Sherlock was cut off as the bathroom opened and Sam walked out; taking one look at the harpoon he was pointing at Mrs. Hudson and sighing.

"Really? Couldn't just wait until I was out of the shower?" She complained, running the towel over her hair and moving to the skull on the mantel where she pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

"Oh, thank _God_." Sherlock moaned, heading over and holding out his hand, but Sam pulled the pack out of his reach with a frown.

"Apologize to Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock scowled, trying to snatch the pack from her, but she easily dodged it and moved to the table by John; dangling the pack over his cup of water.

"Do it, _sincerely_ , or I'll ruin the cigarettes."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't. You need one too."

Sam's eye twitched, but she didn't give. "Yeah, well, sucks for us both then, huh?"

Sherlock groaned, before turning to Mrs. Hudson. " _Sorry_."

The elder woman nodded, before Sherlock continued.

"Sorry, I didn't tell you about his wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about."

"Sherlock!" John scolded, but the damage had been done.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I really don't!" Mrs. Hudson wailed, hurrying out of the flat as Sherlock climbed over a chair and sat in it with his knees hugged to his chest.

John exchanged an exasperated look with Sam, who tapped a cigarette out of the box and slipped it between her lips, unlit.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" John snapped at Sherlock.

"You don't understand." Sherlock grumbled.

"Go after her and apologize."

Sherlock scoffed. "Oh, John, I envy you so much."

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You envy me?"

"Your mind. It's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mines like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!"

"You just solved one!" John shouted back, Sam lighting the cigarette and sitting at the window with a sigh of annoyance. "By harpooning a dead pig apparently!"

Sherlock jumped to sit in the seat more appropriately, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair anxiously. "That was this morning. When's the next one? Sam?"

She glanced at him with a raised brow. "Seriously? What about Bluebell?"

"Who?" John questioned and Sherlock got up to pass his laptop to John reciting the message off his website.

"'Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?'" He whined like a child.

"Again, Bluebell?"

"A rabbit." Sam answered. "One that turned luminous before it vanished from its locked hutch."

"It did what?" John blinked.

"Turned luminous. 'like a fairy' according to little Kirsty." Sherlock mocked with a wave of his hands. "Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked, no sign of forced entry…" He suddenly grew more serious. "Ah, what am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Are you serious?" John questioned.

"It's this or Cluedo."

"Ah, no. We are never playing that again." John said, closing his laptop and setting it back on the table.

"Why not?" Sherlock pouted as Sam rolled her eyes.

"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock. That's why."

"Well, it was the only possible solution."

"It's not in the rules."

"Then the rules are wrong!" Sherlock snapped, before the doorbell rang and Sam let out a long groan as she got up and went to go answer it.

"Thank _God_. I was about to harpoon you _both_ if he didn't finally show up."

"Who?" John asked and Sam tossed him the pack of cigarettes.

"Sherlock's next interesting case."

* * *

I yawned as Henry went on about the hound of Baskerville, tired after a long night of trying and failing to write my paper only to deal with nightmares afterward. I'd been thinking too much about the Fall and what I was going to do, mostly. I hadn't even thought about this case nor the ones afterward. Already, I was getting a headache and Sherlock getting fed up with Henry about this hound business wasn't exactly helping. Though, I _was_ zoning out as they talked. _I wonder what I should have for dinner tonight. Mrs. Hudson showed me how to make fish and chips, but I don't know if Sherlock would care for it. We've got stuff for sandwiches too, but I'll probably use that for lunch… hm._ I closed my eyes and tipped my head back against the arm of the couch, letting out a soft breath and missing Sherlock's frustrated glare in my direction. _Soup maybe? Ooh, I think we've got beef in the fridge. I could make American hamburgers._

I heard a shift and peeked an eye open to see Henry standing, but reached for my headphones instead of caring. _Sherlock will be doing his deductions now and as impressive as it is, I already know this, so it's not as interesting as one would think._ I began to doze off, mouth slightly open and headphones beginning to slip off, before something hit me in the stomach and I let out a grunt. The pack of cigarettes was on my lap and I glared at Sherlock as he made for the door.

"You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later."

"Uh, sorry. So you _are_ coming?" Henry questioned as I slipped my headphones around my neck and rubbed my eyes.

Sherlock turned round. "Twenty-year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world. Sam, pack your things. We're off to Dartmoor."

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose and flopping back on the couch as John showed Henry to the door and returned.

"You alright?"

"Headache." I murmured, moving towards my bag. "Be suspicious of the coffee."

John blinked. "What?"

I smiled innocently. "Always be suspicious of the coffee. It's your hint for the day, John."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but nodded. "Alright. Do you, uh… Do you know about this case at all then?"

"Yup." I hummed, tossing a notebook into my backpack. "And it's surprisingly less dangerous than one would think. Though Sherlock will be in a foul mood, but it's understandable if you're looking at it the right way. So don't be too angry with him. Hint number two."

John only looked more confused. "Right…" He cleared his throat and moved towards his bedroom. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you knowing future events."

"Yeah, well, be glad you don't have that knowledge." I replied, muttering under my breath the last bit. "It's not exactly easy to deal with."

* * *

"S-Sherlock?" Sam chimed from the back of the jeep. "Sherlock, pull over."

Sherlock scowled. "We're nearly there, whatever it is, you can wait."

"Sherlock, _please_."

Sherlock went to argue further, but one look at Sam in the rearview mirror and the jeep was on the side of the road. Sherlock grimaced as Sam bolted from the car and dove for a more distant patch of land from the road; losing her lunch in the grass. John was on her heels and Sherlock got out as well, moving up the rock face to try and get a bird's eye view of the place they were headed.

"Just travel sick." John called out to him. "I gave her a water, but she'll need a mo."

Sherlock nodded, biting his tongue to keep from saying something he might regret, before John pointed out various areas with the help of a map.

"There's Bakersfield. That's Grimpen Village. So that must be… yeah. It's Dewer's Hollow."

Sherlock gestured to a different area though. "What's that?"

John pulled out some binoculars to get a better look, but Sam spoke up; still looking a little green but better than before.

"M-Minefield."

"Well, technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keep to keep people out." John mused, giving Sam a look. "Feeling better?"

She nodded. "Sorry. I'm usually alright, but I used up the last of my travel medicine on the bus ride into London from the airport."

Sherlock hummed, heading back to the car and rolling the back window down for her despite the slightly chilling weather. She thanked him quietly, hanging her head out the window with a sigh. It wasn't long before they reached Grimpen Village, getting out once they found an inn and walking towards a pub where a man was standing outside talking about the tours he was doing for the hound.

"Three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone." He grinned. "Don't be strangers and remember, stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!"

Sherlock flipped his collar up, not missing the small smile on Sam's face, nor the pointed look John gave him.

"I'm cold." He lied, earning a snort from Sam as they walked into the pub.

John went up front to get some rooms while Sam bought a drink despite John's motherly look attempting to dissuade her against it. Sherlock though, was looking around curiously before the owner, Gary, placed two keys on the counter.

"Uh, sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys." He apologized, looking between Sam and John, then over at Sherlock. "Curious, but which of you are with the tall one?"

Sam choked on her drink as John turned a little pale at the mention.

"W-We're not…" John gave up though, seeing that Gary wouldn't exactly believe him either way and paid for his own drink as well. "There you go."

"Oh, ta. I'll just get your change."

"Ta." John responded as Gary left, only to spot something odd on the counter.

It was a receipt for a rather large amount of meat, for the inn being vegetarian. He looked around to make sure no one was watching before pocketing the paper just as Gary returned.

"There you go."

John decided to do some intel gathering then. "I couldn't help noticing on the map of the moor, a skull and crossbones."

"Oh that. Aye."

"Pirates?"

"Uh, no, no." Gary corrected, seeing how his 'aye' might have come across as that. "The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it."

"Oh, right."

"It's not what you think." Gary urged, seeing that Sam had been listening in as well. "It's Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty-odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore."

"Explosives?" John asked.

"Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and—if you're lucky—you just get blown up, so they say. In case you're planning a nice wee stroll."

"Ta, I'll remember."

"Aye, no. It buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound." Gary chuckled, coming out from behind the bar to grab some glasses. "Did you see that show? That documentary?"

"Quite recently, yeah."

"Aye. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell."

"Ever seen it? The hound?" John asked, catching Sherlock's attention from the door and Sam's as well, as she moved towards Sherlock.

"Me? No. Fletcher has." Gary said, gesturing to the man outside doing the tours. "He runs the walks. The monster walks for tourists, you know? He's seen it."

"That's handy, for the trade." John smiled as Sam and Sherlock walked out.

Sam nodded to the abandoned drink on a nearby table and Sherlock snatched it up before following Fletcher to another table.

"Mind if we join you?"

Fletcher shrugged, welcoming them as they sat and he rubbed at his shoulder.

"It's not true, is it?" Sherlock questioned. "You haven't actually seen this… hound thing."

Fletched looked at him suspiciously. "You from the papers?"

"No. Nothing like that. Just curious. _Have_ you seen it?"

"Maybe."

"Got any proof?"

"Who would I tell you if I did?" Fletcher snapped, making to leave. "'Scuse me."

John headed over then. "I called Henry—"

Sherlock spoke up over him, making Sam roll her eyes. "Bet's off, John. Sorry."

"What?"

"Bet?" Fletcher said, curious now.

Sam nodded. "He made a bet with John. Something about you being able to prove the existence of the hound."

"My plan needs darkness." Sherlock said, ignoring Fletcher as he looked at his watch and then the sky. "Reckon we've got another half an hour of light."

"Wait, wait. What bet?" Fletcher questioned, wanting more details than what Sam gave him.

"Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound, as Sam said."

John caught on and nodded. "Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could."

Fletcher chuckled. "Well, you're gonna lost your money, mate."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind. Couldn't make much out."

"I see. No witnesses, I suppose." Sherlock mused.

"No, but—"

"Never are."

"Wait." Fletcher pulled out his phone and showed them a fogged photo. "There."

Sam leaned forward, squinting. "Bit sketchy, that. Can't make much out. Could just be a dog."

Sherlock agreed. "Sam's right. It's not exactly proof, is it? Sorry, John. I win."

"Wait, wait. That's not all." Fletcher said, stopping Sherlock from drinking some of the beer he'd stolen. "People don't like going up there, you know. To the Hollow. Gives them a… bad sort of feeling."

"Ooh, is it haunted?" Sherlock mocked him. "Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Nah, don't be stupid. Nothing like that." Fletcher argued. "But I reckon there _is_ something out there. Something from Baskerville escaped."

"A clone? Super-dog?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Maybe." Fletcher frowned, not appreciating the jabs. "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years. Or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit."

"Which can't be far." Sam snorted, drinking some of her own drink before Fletcher spilled some more.

"I had a mate once. Worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing but he never showed up. Well, not 'til late. When he did… he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today Fletch.' He said. 'That I never want to see again. _Terrible_ things'. He'd been sent to some secret Army place. Porton Down, maybe. Maybe Baskerville or somewhere else." Fletcher leaned closer. "In the labs there. The really _secret_ labs. He said he'd seen… terrible things. 'Rats as big as dogs.' He said. 'And dogs…'" He reached into his bag and pulled out a plaster cast of a large dog print. "'…dogs, the size of horses'."

Even Sherlock was impressed by the cast and John—needing the money after Sherlock constantly ditches him to pay the cab fare—hurried to collect.

"Uh, we did say fifty?"

Fletcher grinned and Sherlock begrudgingly gave in and handed him the money. Sherlock got up and Sam chugged down the rest of her drink before trailing after him with John. They again, left the window down for her as they drove into the Baskerville army base. They were stopped at a gate by armed soldiers and Sherlock handed him an ID as John questioned it.

"You've got ID for Baskerville? How?"

"It's not specific to this place. It's my brother's." Sherlock replied. "Access all areas. I, um…" He cleared his throat. "…acquired it ages ago, just in case."

"Brilliant." John hissed.

"What's the matter?"

"We'll get caught."

"No, we won't. Well, not just yet." Sherlock reassured him.

"Caught in five minutes." John argued. "'Oh, hi. We just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.' 'Really? Great! Come in! Kettle's just boiled'. That's if we don't get shot."

"Well, then just ask Sam." Sherlock grumbled and Sam popped her head between them.

"What's that? I was napping."

Sherlock groaned as John questioned her.

"Sherlock used Mycroft's ID to get in. We're going to get caught, aren't we?"

"Hm? Oh, nah. You should have more faith in Sherlock, John. And in Mycroft. He's known about Sherlock taking his ID for ages. Us getting caught all depends on whether he's in a good mood or not." Sam smirked. "Now, if I sent him that cake… Well, then we might be in some trouble."

"Cake?"

"The diet, John." Sherlock smiled as Sam chuckled and sat back in her seat properly.

"Ah."

"Thank you very much, sir." A guard said, heading over and handing Sherlock back his brother's pass. "Straight through, sir."

"Mycroft's name _literally_ opens doors!" John joked as they headed though.

"I've told you. He practically _is_ the British government. I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realize something's wrong."

"Twenty-three." Sam hummed as they parked and got out. "Though it'd be best to pretend it's twenty. We'll get lucky."

They walked towards the entrance with a soldier leading them, only for a jeep to pull up and another man to hop out.

"What is it?" He asked, looking worried. "Are we in trouble?"

"'Are we in trouble, _sir_?' Sherlock corrected.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"You were expecting us?" Sherlock questioned curiously as the man stopped them.

"Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. _Is_ there something wrong, sir?" Lyons asked again after introducing himself.

"Well, I hope not, Corporal. I hope not."

"It's just we don't get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn't happen." Lyons insisted.

"Ever heard of a spot check?" John added on, revealing his military ID to the man. "Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

Lyons quickly saluted and John returned it in perfect form.

"Sir. Major Barrymore won't be pleased, sir. He'll want to see you…" Lyons trailed off when he spotted Sam, frowning. "Who's this? He's not authorized to be here."

"He's my secretary and security." Sherlock said shortly. "So I suggest you give him every respect you give me."

Lyons didn't look convinced, but shut his mouth and gave in. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

John stepped in then. "And we won't have time to meet Major Barrymore. We'll need the full tour right away. Carry on." John said, ordering the man when he hesitated. "That's an _order_ , Corporal."

"Yes, sir."

Lyons hurried to let them in and Sherlock smirked at John, alongside Sam as he checked his watch and they entered the building.

"Nice touch." Sherlock muttered to John quietly.

"I haven't pulled rank in ages."

"Enjoy it?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Thanks, Sherlock." Sam piped in and Sherlock raised a brow. "For letting me tag along. Sticking up for me."

"Please." He scoffed. "I wasn't about to make you go wait in the car."

"Still. Thanks."

They got into an elevator and went down to the first basement level where Sam jumped out of her skin when a monkey launched itself at the bars of its cage.

"God, I _hate_ monkeys." She complained, smacking Sherlock when he smiled at her in amusement.

"How many animals do you keep down here?" Sherlock asked.

"Lots, sir."

"Any ever escape?" He asked as Sam eyed the beagle being led past them.

"They'd have to know how to use the lift, sir. We're not breeding them _that_ clever."

"Unless they have help." He muttered under his breath as a man headed over curiously.

"Ah, and you are?"

"Sorry, Doctor Frankland." Lyons apologized to the scientist. "I'm just showing these gentlemen around."

Frankland smiled. "Ah, new faces, huh? Nice. Careful you don't get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!" He joked, leaving as John asked more questions to Lyons; missing the frown Sam sent at Frankland's back.

"How far down does that lift go?"

"Quite a way, sir."

"Mhmm. And what's down there?"

"Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir." Lyons mused. "This way please, gentlemen."

They trailed after him as he led the way.

"So what exactly is it that you do here?" John questioned.

"I thought you'd know, sir. This being an inspection."

"Well, I'm not an expert, am I?" John challenged.

Lyons answered him easily enough. "Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir."

"But mostly weaponry?"

"Of one sort or another, yes."

"Biological? Chemical?"

"One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared."

"Then wouldn't it be smarter to prepare for ways to _prevent_ the effects of chemical warfare?" Sam piped in. "I mean, you can win a war by fighting, but you can also win it by making the enemies' weapons useless. Seems more productive to me, than losing people trying to fight an endless battle."

John smiled a bit, but Lyons didn't look convinced and opened the next door where a woman was speaking with her colleague over another monkey.

"Doctor Stapleton?" Lyons called out, making Sherlock frown.

"Stapleton?"

"Bluebell." Sam muttered under her breath, helping Sherlock as he 'ah'-ed in understanding.

"Yes? Who's this?" Stapleton asked.

"Priority Ultra, ma'am. Orders from on high. An inspection." Lyons answered her question, making her suspicious as well.

"Really?"

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton." Sherlock pressed, hoping to make things move along a little faster. "What's your role at Baskerville?"

She snorted and John raised a brow.

"Uh, according to _every_ courtesy, isn't that the idea?"

"I'm not free to say. Official secrets." She replied, not trusting the group.

"Genes."

All eyes went to Sam, who pretended to look at a small notepad.

"Mostly." She said, flipping a page, though Sherlock noted that it was completely blank.

She was keeping up pretenses as their secretary.

"You mix genes together to find certain results. Namely one from the common jellyfish."

Sherlock smirked. "Ah, yes. I _knew_ I knew your name. Took Sam here to remind me."

"I doubt it." Stapleton mumbled.

"People say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must leave." Sherlock hummed, grabbing Sam's notepad and writing something on it before revealing it to her.

 _BLUEBELL_

"Have you been talking to my daughter?" Stapleton gaped in shock.

"Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?" Sherlock asked and John turned to them in questionable disbelief.

"The rabbit?"

"Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive." Sherlock rattled off.

"The _rabbit_?" John repeated.

"Clearly an inside job." Sherlock went on, ignoring John for now as Stapleton frowned.

"Oh, you reckon?"

"Why?" Sherlock asked, turning to Sam as she finished.

"Because it glowed in the dark."

"Exactly." Sherlock smirked, checking his watch as Stapleton argued.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Who are you?"

"Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal." Sherlock said quickly. "Thank you so much."

"That's it?" Lyons asked.

"That's it. It's this way, isn't it?" Sherlock mused, already heading back with Sam's hand in his as he tugged her along.

Stapleton tried to stop them, but was ignored as John hurried over to his friends' side and spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?"

They were nearly there when Sherlock's phone went off and he glanced at the text from Mycroft.

 _What are you doing?_

 _M_

Sherlock chuckled. "You were right, Sam. Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft's getting slow."

The get into the lift with Frankland, who looked suspiciously at them, but said nothing other than a quick 'hello again'.

They made to step out, but an older man was standing there looking cross.

"Uh, um, Major." Lyons stuttered out.

"This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn't I told?"

John stepped forward. "Major Barrymore, is it? Yes, well, good. Very good." John offered a hand to shake. "We're very impressed, aren't we Mr. Holmes?"

Barrymore refused to shake John's hand, as Sherlock pulled out his phone to see another text.

"Deeply, hugely." Sherlock muttered.

 _What's going on, Sherlock?_

 _M_

Sherlock brushed past the Major as the rest followed him and the man complained.

"The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense."

"I'm so sorry, Major." Sherlock said, unapologetically.

"Inspections?!"

"New policy. Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows _what_ you'd get up to." He whispered harshly to John and Sam. "Keep walking."

"Sir!" Lyons called out then, hitting an alarm button. "ID unauthorized, sir."

"What?" Barrymore questioned.

"I've just had the call."

"Is that right?" Barrymore smirked, looking smug as he turned to the trio. "Who are you?"

"Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake." John attempted and Barrymore held a hand out for Sherlock's ID.

"Clearly not Mr. Holmes."

John nudged Sam, who began to scribble on her notepad. "Computer error, Major. It'll all have to go in the report."

"What the _hell's_ going on?!" He demanded, but then Frankland wandered up with a smile.

"It's alright, Major. I know _exactly_ who these gentlemen are."

"You do?" Barrymore frowned.

"Yeah, I'm getting a little slow on faces, but Mr. Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place." He said, covering for them and Sherlock went along with it hesitantly.

"Ah, well."

"Good to see you again, Mycroft." Frankland said with a subtle look, holing out his hand to shake and Sherlock smiled; understanding now what Sam said earlier about them getting lucky. "I had the honor of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in… Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna." Sherlock corrected, playing along.

"Vienna, that's it." Frankland smiled, turning to Barrymore. "This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake."

Barrymore gave Lyons the silent order to stop the alarm and frowned at the scientist. "On your head be it, Doctor Frankland." Frankland laughed, not taking the man seriously as he offered to led the trio out to their parked jeep; where Sam hit Sherlock and he begrudgingly thanked the man.

"Thank you."

"This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?" Frankland questioned, no one saying as such, but him assuming it to be true. "I _thought_ so. I knew he wanted help, but I didn't realize he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock smiled bitterly, but Frankland went on.

"Oh, don't worry. I know who you really are. I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat though."

"That wasn't my hat." Sherlock grumbled.

Frankland wasn't listening though, smiling at John. "I hardly recognized him without the hat."

"It wasn't my hat." Sherlock repeated.

"I love the blog too, Doctor Watson."

"Oh, cheers" John smiled.

"The, uh, the Pink thing."

"Mhm."

"And the one about the aluminum crutch!"

"Yes."

"You know Henry Knight?" Sherlock cut in, not wanting to listen to the rest of their drabble.

"Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend." Frankland said, glancing back to see Barrymore watching them. "Listen, I can't really talk now." He passed a card over. "Here's my uh, cell number. If I could help with Henry, give me a call."

"I never did ask, Doctor Frankland. What exactly is it that you do here?" Sherlock questioned, having not missed the way Sam had remained silently watching Frankland.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes. I would love to tell you, but then—of course—I'd have to kill you." Frankland grinned, laughing as Sherlock kept his face blank.

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you."

Frankland's smile faltered as Sherlock pressed him for more answers.

"Tell me about Doctor Stapleton."

"Never speak ill of a colleague."

"Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do." Sherlock challenged.

"I _do_ seem to be, don't I?"

Sherlock raised his card. "I'll be in touch."

"Anytime."

Frankland headed back as they went towards the jeep and John hummed.

"So?"

"So?" Sherlock repeated.

"What was all that about the rabbit?"

Sherlock smirked and flipped his coat collar up, making John groan and Sam snicker.

"Oh, please. Can we not do this, this time?"

"Do what?"

"You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."

Sherlock paused at the car door. "I don't do that."

"Yeah, you kind of do." Sam smiled. "You did it earlier when we were dropping by the pub, remember?"

Sherlock scowled. "Oh, who paid you to be observant?"

"You did, apparently, seeing as I'm suddenly your secretary, _sir._ "

Sherlock groaned as John chuckled and the trio drove off to meet up with Henry.

* * *

I slept on the way to Henry's, not wanting to get car sick again, but was soon woken up and tugged along with Sherlock and John into Henry's place. John was a little more than surprised at the house and it's expensive furnishing, but we were soon sitting down for coffee. Sherlock dropped in his usual sugar cubes, but I took my coffee black to keep awake. I didn't do well after naps in the middle of the day. I usually ended up tired the rest of the afternoon, so straight coffee would do me some good. Henry then began explaining what he'd remembered lately in his nightmares.

"I-It's a couple of words. It's what I keep seeing. 'liberty'."

John repeated the word as he jotted it down.

"'Liberty and 'in'. It's just that." Henry said, grabbing the milk and asking if John still needed it, before putting it away as John turned to Sherlock and I.

"Mean anything to you?"

"'Liberty in death'." Sherlock said quietly, to not alarm Henry. "Isn't that the expression? The only true freedom."

Henry returned to the counter, glancing anxiously out the window. "What now, then?"

"Sherlock's got a plan." John said easily as Sherlock nodded.

"Yes."

"Right."

"We take you out to the moor." Sherlock started, already making Henry nervous.

"Okay…"

"And see if anything attacks you." Sherlock grinned as John rounded on him.

"What?!"

"That should bring things to a head."

"At night?" Henry said shakily. "You want me to go out there at night?"

"Mm."

" _That's_ your plan?" John scoffed, sarcastically. "Brilliant!"

"Got any better ideas?" Sherlock challenged.

"That's not a plan."

"Listen." Sherlock said seriously. "If there _is_ a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do. Find out where it lives."

John turned to Sam. "Sam, _please_ tell me there's something else. _Anything_ else."

I glanced at the panicked Henry who also looked at me like I could save him from this fate, but I hadn't the slightest idea. This was another big turning point for John and Sherlock. It helped humanize Sherlock and show him that he needed John. That he _had_ friends who worried about him. It tested him mentally and showed him a problem that he needed in order to think outside the box and understand things like relations with the people around him. If I gave away anything too soon, it could ruin everything. _That, and it's not like anyone gets seriously injured other than Frankland. Tripping him in the fog shouldn't be too hard, especially since I know where he'll be headed. I can get ahead of him and stop him before he gets blown up. Henry has mental issues however, and those won't be nearly as easy to stop or help with. I don't know. Maybe I'll think of something. Stay with him at night or something. Give him some support._

"Sorry, John. Things have to go as they should. If there's anything I can do, I will, but Sherlock's plan here actually helps. Sorry." I aimed that last apology at Henry. "I'll help as much as I can, but there's not much I can do right now."

"R-Right." Henry murmured, looking a bit confused, but more nervous about what was coming up.

As night began to fall, we headed out to the moor and Henry led the way as we followed with our torches. Sherlock wanted me behind Henry and in front of him should anything happen, which I was fine with, though that did leave John in the back. _And he's going to_ _get distracted by the horny teenagers and their flashing lights. I feel a bit bad, but if he comes with the rest of us and managed to shoot the dog, then we'll miss the bigger picture._ It grew darker still as we made it to a more forested path. After a moment, I glanced down to see one light behind me. _John's gone._ We passed a danger sign or two then, before Sherlock tried to start up a chat.

"Met a friend of yours."

"What?"

"Doctor Frankland."

"Oh, right. Bob. Yeah." Henry said.

"Seems pretty concerned about you."

"He's a worrier, bless him. He's been very kind to me since I came back."

"He knew your father." Sherlock went on.

"Yeah."

"But he works at Baskerville. Didn't your dad have a problem with that?"

"Well, mates are mates, aren't they? I mean, look at you, John and Sam."

Sherlock frowned. "What about us?"

"Well, I mean, he's a straight forward bloke and Sam seems to sort of keep you…" Henry paused, not wanting to finish when he caught sight of Sherlock's expression, switching topics. "T-They agreed never to talk about work, Uncle Bob and my dad." Henry stopped and nodded down into a fogged valley by our feet down a steep slope. "Dewer's Hollow."

Sherlock turned to me. "Sam, I want you to stay up here."

"What?" I questioned, unsure for more than one reason.

 _Doesn't the dog end up here? I can't really remember. Maybe it was down there? I should stick by Henry though, shouldn't I? He has a really bad freak out after this, as does Sherlock._ Sherlock though repeated his order.

"Stay _here_."

I begrudgingly nodded and watched as he and Henry slid down the slope into the fog. I could barely see them, when a loud howl rang out; far closer than I'd like it to be.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

He ignored me, his torch still aimed at the ground where the dogs' footprints were probably at. Another howl rang out and Sherlock finally looked up. His light scanned the top of the ridge, and then something slammed into me. I was hit hard and fell to the ground, losing my torch. I cursed and scrambled on my hands and knees for the light, but something grabbed my ankle and pulled me back away from it.

"G-Get off!" I shouted, kicking out with my free foot and landing a hit on something; making it yelp before I grabbed the torch and turned to shine it on my attacker.

I honestly wish I hadn't. I wasn't down in the drugged-up fog. It should have just been some big dog to me, but this thing was _massive_ and _very_ angry. It growled lowly in its throat, sharp teeth showing brightly in my light as it snarled at me, looking about ready to tear me apart if it wasn't for John's timely appearance. His noisy footsteps hurried over and his torch spooked the dog, sending it off as I laid there panting and out of breath. _No, no. It's just a dog. I'm fine. It's just a dog. It's not even close to being scary. Not as scary as…_ I shivered just remembering Moriarty, but it knocked me out of my panic enough to get up onto my feet with a cringe. I shined my torch on my ankle and winced at the torn hem of my pant leg and the dark stain accompanying whatever damage the dog had inflicted. _I can't let them know. They'll make me stay at the inn and then I won't even have a chance of saving Frankland. I'll have to hide it. it's dark, Sherlock's panicked. I should be fine._

I brushed off the dirt on me as best I could and hurried over to where John was meeting up with Sherlock and Henry; doing my best to keep from limping.

"We saw it." Henry breathed out. "We _saw_ it."

"No. I didn't see anything." Sherlock snapped shortly, hurrying off as Henry chased after him.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I didn't _see_ anything."


	14. Chapter 14

John headed back to the inn with a heavy sigh. Sherlock had returned earlier, but Sam had insisted that she stay with Henry to help give him some support. John had hesitated at first, but felt it would be best if Henry wasn't alone after what happened at the moor, and he trusted Sam enough to take care of herself if anything should happen. Returning and dealing with Sherlock was what worried him now. The man had been acting strangely when they left he moor, but without Sam there to act as a buffer between the two, he worried that something more might be going on. She warned him before he left though, to remember what she'd said.

" _Sherlock will be in a foul mood, but it's understandable if you're looking at it the right way. So don't be too angry with him."_

John entered and immediately saw that in Sherlock, so he tried to play it calm and sat in an armchair across from him.

"Well, Henry is in a pretty bad way. He's manic, totally convinced there's some mutant super-dog roaming the moors." John said, watching Sherlock for a reaction as he said the next bit. "Sam offered to stay with him to keep an eye on him tonight, so she's over there."

Sherlock didn't so much as blink; his hands steepled in front of his mouth and a drink at his side as he silently gazed into the fireplace.

"And there isn't though, is there?" John continued from his first line of thought. "'Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know. They'd be for sale. I mean, that's how it works."

Sherlock closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of air and let it out, trying to calm himself, though John missed the action.

"Uh, listen. Uh, on the moor I saw someone signaling. Uh, Morse. I _guess_ it's Morse. Doesn't seem to make much sense." John explained, pulling out his notepad. "Uh, U.M.Q.R.A. Does that mean… anything?"

John then noticed how Sherlock was struggling and snapped his notepad shut, trying to help the man in any way he could. The best way, he thought, would be like Sherlock. Stick to the facts.

"So, okay, what have we got? We know there's footprints, 'cause Henry found them. So did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something."

Sherlock breathed in shakily again and John continued.

"Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog."

"Henry's right." Sherlock said then, making John blink at him. "I saw it too."

"What?"

"I saw it too, John." Sherlock admitted, his voice tight.

"Just… Just a minute." John said, leaning forward in shock. "You saw what?"

"A hound, out there in the Hollow." Sherlock said, red rimmed eyes finally meeting John's as he grit his teeth. "A gigantic hound."

John almost went to laugh, but remember what Alex had said and cleared his throat, trying to stay serious. _I've got to look at this from his point of view._

"Um, look, Sherlock. We have to be rational about this, okay?" John said cautiously as Sherlock brought his hands up once more. "Let's just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts."

Sherlock looked at him, making John glad that he must have said the right thing. "Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be true."

"What does that mean, Sherlock?" John asked, understanding the concept, but not seeing what Sherlock was getting from it.

 _The hound is real? Fake? What?_

Sherlock picked up his drink, smiling bitterly as his hand shook and he pointed it out to John.

"Look at me. I'm afraid, John. Afraid." Sherlock said, drinking.

"Sherlock?" John asked, wondering if he was going to have to deal with another case like Henry with how Sherlock was acting.

"Always been able to keep myself distant." He drank some more. "Divorce myself from… _feelings_. But look, you see." He held up the glass again. "Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment."

"Yeah, alright." John said, seeing that Sherlock was gaining attention from the people around them with his raised voice. "Just take it easy. You've been pretty wired lately, you know you have."

He went to continue, but paused for a moment, thinking. _Sherlock just saw something that should be impossible. Sam told me to be cautious about this. Think about it from his perspective. I would be terrified too, but this is Sherlock. He's different, isn't he? It's not that there's something wrong with his reaction, but it's almost like… he believes there is._

"Sherlock, everyone gets spooked at some point."

"Me?!" Sherlock scoffed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"I never said there was. I'm saying that this is normal!" John protested seeing Sherlock struggling once more with his hands on his temples. "I get that it's hard to see why you'd be upset, but if you just work through it like you always do then—"

"There is nothing wrong with me!" Sherlock snapped, glaring at John. "Do you understand?!"

John just stared back, unsure what he could say as Sherlock continued in rapid speed.

"You want me to prove it, yes?" Sherlock said, slightly quieter as he took another deep breath. "We're looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?"

He looked at the people in the room and gestured to two sitting across from each other.

"How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer's yes."

"Yes?" John blurted out, confused.

"She's got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we're looking for."

John began to realize what was going on and sighed.

"Oh, Sherlock, for God's sake."

"Look at the jumper he's wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he's uncomfortable in it. Maybe it's because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it's a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother's good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He's treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he's trying to economize on his own food."

"Well, maybe he's not hungry." John grumbled.

 _God, where is Sam when I need her…_

"No, small plate. Starter. He's practically licked it clean. She's nearly finished her pavlova. If she'd treated him, he'd have had as much as he wanted. He's hungry all right, and not well-off. You can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes." Sherlock then began to mock John. "'How do you know she's his mother?' Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother's more likely. Now, he _was_ a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They're all quite old now, which suggests he's been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he's turned to his widowed mother for help. 'Widowed?'" He mocked again, making John frown and beginning to get annoyed. "Yes, obviously. She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain round her neck. Clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well-dressed but her jewelry's cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it. It's sentimental. Now, the dog. Tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact, it _is_. A West Highland terrier called Whisky."

John dragged a hand down his face as Sherlock again made fun of him.

"'How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?' 'Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that's not cheating, that's listening. I use my senses, John, unlike _some_ people. So you see, I _am_ fine, in fact I've never been better, so just _leave me alone._ "

"Yeah." John cleared his throat. "Okay. Okay."

Sherlock looked away, angrily and John finally couldn't listen to Sam's words any longer.

"And why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend."

"I don't have _friends_." Sherlock snapped heatedly.

"Nah." John mused, getting up. "I wonder why."

He stormed out.

* * *

Sam wandered down into the living room again, exhausted, but knowing she needed to check up on Henry every once in a while, so she made herself some more coffee. She heard a breath then and spotted Henry sitting up with his hands over his face.

"You okay?" She called out quietly, making him look up. "Sorry if I woke you. Do you want some tea or something?"

Henry got up, but winced, covering his face as though in pain and Sam headed over carefully.

"Henry, just sit down and I'll make you something."

"Why are you doing this?" He questioned, allowing her to sit him back down on the couch. "I barely know you and you're—"

"Just a kid?" Sam smiled, forcefully.

"I-I was going to say young." Henry tried to argue and she chuckled.

"It's fine, really. But…" She paused, smile slipping. "I've been there. Where you are. Having flashbacks and being terrified of everything."

"R-Really?"

She nodded, making Henry wonder what could have happened to her at such a young age. "I was, um… taken by someone. They thought I knew things and… well, I got lucky. I was friends with Sherlock and he got me out of it. I still get nightmares though. And I'm rather terrified of large bodies of water. Can't take a bath unless it's a shower." She chuckled bitterly.

"W-What did you do?" Henry asked, wondering how she was able to move on like she had.

"Therapy." She shrugged. "It helped with the fear of water. Couldn't drink from a glass, it was so bad. But Sherlock and John helped me out with the rest. That's… That's kind of why I'm here. Support, you know?"

Henry smiled a little as she hobbled over to give him some tea. "Thanks."

He spotted the bandages on her ankle then and looked at her in worry.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"A-Ah…" She looked down as though having to try and forget about it. "Stumbled out in the moor earlier, is all. Nicked it on a branch. Don't tell Sherlock and John though, yeah? I want to help as much as I can, and I can't do that if they shut me up in the inn the rest of the case."

She tugged him up from the couch then, confusing him.

"W-Wha—"

"Come on. You're not going to get any sleep down here. Take the bedroom upstairs where there's no TV to distract you and take some of John's medication to help you sleep. I'll keep an eye on the rest of the house."

"B-But—"

"Henry, _go_. You won't be much help to Sherlock and John if you're sleep deprived. I'll sleep too, but I want to make sure you're fine first. So go."

He reluctantly nodded and headed upstairs, missing the way Sam looked out the large glass windows in the living room as though there was something outside watching them.

* * *

A loud knock startled me from where I'd fallen asleep sitting on the floor staring out into the backyard, and I blinked wearily before getting up to answer the front door.

"Yes, yes. Coming." I grumbled, yawning and pulling it open only to step aside as Sherlock stormed in. "Hello to you too."

"Morning!" He called out loudly, making me wince as my head ached at the sudden assault on my eardrums and Henry came down the stairs in surprise. "Oh, how are you feeling?"

"Um, pretty good, actually." Henry said with a small smile, only to catch sight of me and look worried. "Ah, are you alright? I thought you said you were going to sleep?"

I waved him off. "I'm fine. A squirrel or something kept setting off your porchlights. I'd rather it kept me up than spook you half the night."

Henry smiled a bit. "Thanks."

"Good to see you two getting along." Sherlock chirped though I felt his smile was a bit forced. "Shall I make you both some coffee?"

He bounded into the kitchen and Henry and I trailed after him as he dug around in the cupboards.

"Listen, last night." Henry started, watching him in worry as I slumped over the counter while sitting on a stool. "Why did you say you hadn't seen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but…"

"Hound." Sherlock said then, putting the coffee down as he smiled.

"What?"

"Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?"

"Why—What do you mean?" Henry asked, looking at me in confusion, but I shrugged; keeping my chin lazily on the counter.

"It's odd, isn't it? Strange choice of words. Archaic. It's why I took the case. 'Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound'." He quoted. "Why say 'hound'?"

"I don't know." Henry said, but before he could get further than that, Sherlock came towards me a pulled me up from the stool.

"Actually, we'd better skip coffee."

"Oh, _please_ tell me you brought the car." I groaned.

"Around the corner." Sherlock hummed. "No sleeping, Sam. We're going back to town and you're going to wait for me at the pub while I grab John."

"Oh, you disowned him, didn't you?" I complained as he practically picked me up and put me in the passenger seat; buckling me in.

"I didn't disown him." He argued, shutting the door and coming around to the driver's side.

"No, you were just an ass." I grumbled, mocking him. "Mr. I-Don't- _Need_ -Friends."

Sherlock frowned as he started the car, turning to look over my seat as he was backing out of the drive. "Oh, aren't you cheeky when you're sleep deprived."

"Piss off." I breathed out, closing my eyes and settling into my seat for a short nap.

* * *

Sherlock spotted John sitting on some steps in a church graveyard and headed for him, grimacing when John tucked away what he was doing and looked annoyed.

"Did you, uh, get anywhere with that Morse code?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"No." John replied, getting down from his perch and walking away.

"U.M.Q.R.A., wasn't it?" Sherlock continued, following after him. "UMQRA."

"Nothing." John insisted, not wanting to think about it.

"UMQ—"

"Look." John snapped. "Forget it. It's… I thought I was onto something. I wasn't."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"How about Louise Mortimer?" Sherlock asked then, hoping to be a little funny. "Did you get anywhere with her?"

"No." John frowned.

"Too bad. Did you get any information?"

John couldn't help a small smile at that, but kept walking after a short glance at him. "You being funny now? Did Sam convince you to try that?"

"Thought it might break the ice a bit. And no. I only picked her up this morning and she slept the whole way back."

"Funny doesn't suit you. I'd stick to ice." John commented, making Sherlock stop in disappointment.

"John."

"It's fine." John said, but Sherlock wouldn't leave it at that.

"No, wait. What happened last night. Something happened to me. Something I've not really experienced before."

"Yes, you said." John sighed. "Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said."

Sherlock rushed up and pulled him around to face him. "No, no, no. it was more than that, John. I've been scared before, when Sam was taken. This was doubt. I felt doubt. I've _always_ been able to trust my senses. The evidence of my own eyes. Until last night."

"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster." John argued.

"No, I _can't_ believe that." Sherlock smiled. "But I did see it, so the question is, how? _How_?"

"Yes. Yeah, right. Good. So you've got something to go on, then? Good luck with that." John said bitterly, moving on, but Sherlock wasn't done.

"Listen. What I said before John, I meant it."

John stopped and looked back at him as he went on.

"I don't have friends. I've just got two."

John looked at him for a moment, before nodding and heading off. "Right."

Sherlock looked a bit upset, before realizing something and bounding after him some more. "John! John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!"

"Yes, alright! You don't have to overdo it." John said with a roll of his eyes and a small smile.

Sherlock moved in front of him and walked backwards.

"You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable."

"Cheers." John said, before thinking that over again. "What?"

Sherlock moved to walk beside him and pulled out the notepad he'd taken off Sam; scribbling something in it.

"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others."

"Hold on. You were saying 'sorry' a minute ago. Don't spoil it." John complained. "Go on. What have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"

They stopped outside the pub and Sherlock showed John the notepad with the word HOUND written in all caps.

"Yeah?" John asked, confused.

"But what if it's not a word? What if it is individual letters?" Sherlock said, showing it again.

 _H.O.U.N.D._

"You think it's an acronym?"

"Absolutely no idea, but I can ask Sam to confirm and…" Sherlock trailed off as he spotted Sam slumped over the bar asleep with someone hovering over her in concern.

Someone familiar and someone Sherlock was _not_ pleased to see.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Sherlock snapped at Lestrade.

"Oh, nice to see you too." Lestrade complained. "I'm on holiday, would you believe and what did you do to Sam? She's out cold!"

"Nothing. She didn't sleep much last night and _no_ , I wouldn't believe that." Sherlock snipped as Lestrade smiled at John and took off his sunglasses.

"Hello, John."

"Greg." John greeted.

"I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?" Lestrade asked.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?" Sherlock pressed.

"I've told you, I'm on holiday."

"You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just _back_ from your holidays." Sherlock deduced easily.

"Yeah, well I fancied another one."

"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?" Sherlock complained.

"No, look—"

"Of _course_ it is. One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to, to spy on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself Greg?"

"That's his _name_." John informed him, making him frown.

"Is it?"

" _Yes_." Lestrade grumbled. "If you'd ever bothered to find out. Look. I'm not your handler and I don't just do what your brother tells me." He said, picking up his drink and gesturing to Sam. "Though it _is_ my job to check up on this one every once in a while. Looks like you're running her ragged."

"She's running _herself_ ragged." Sherlock snipped with a roll of his eyes, before John came up with an idea then.

"Actually, you could be just the man we want."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, curious now.

"Well, I've not been idle, Sherlock. I think I might have found something." John smiled, pulling out the receipt he'd snatched from the bar when they first arrived. "Here. Didn't know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant."

Sherlock grinned. "Excellent."

John smiled as well as he turned to Lestrade. "Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy."

They all exchanged a few looks, before John rang the bell on the counter.

"Shop!"

"I'm up!" Sam said loudly too, snapping upright on the stool after being startled out of her nap and earning amused looks from the group. "Oh _God_." She groaned, dropping her head onto the table. "This is never going to end, is it?"

"Come on, Sam. We've got business to take care of." Sherlock hummed and they went into the back room at the bar where Lestrade could look over the owner's receipts.

Sherlock had left John and Sam by the mantel nearby while he prepared some coffee, heading over and offering it to the two.

"What's this?" John asked.

"Coffee. I made coffee." Sherlock replied innocently as Sam yawned and John frowned.

"You _never_ make coffee."

"I just did." Sherlock argued. "Don't you want it?"

John eyed him. "You don't have to keep apologizing."

Sherlock looked away with a small disappointed sigh and John gave in, taking it from him as Sherlock nudged the half-conscious Sam with the other.

"Thanks." John said as Sam grumbled something resembling the same.

Sherlock grinned as John sipped it, only to grimace.

"Mm. I don't take sugar."

Sherlock's smile fell into a more disappointed look and John held back a groan, forcing himself to drink more of the coffee until Sherlock looked away and he set it aside. Sam hardly cared, already knowing nothing was wrong with the sugar. And despite liking her coffee black, 'beggars can't be choosers' came to mind and she accepted any form of caffeine she could get. The two owners didn't take long to reveal that they'd secretly been feeding a large, vicious dog in the moor and the group headed outside to discuss things before Lestrade left the trio on their own.

"So, that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?" John questioned, missing how Sam shifted with a wince onto her other leg as she stood there with them.

"Looks like it." Sherlock replied, having also missed the action.

"But that wasn't what _you_ saw." John said, trying to connect the dots. "That wasn't just an ordinary dog."

"No." Sherlock looked out, dazed. "It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John, Sam. Its whole body was glowing." Sherlock shook it off and turned to head back to the car. "I've got a theory, but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it."

"How?" John questioned. "Can't pull off the ID trick again."

"Might not have to." Sherlock smiled, pulling out his phone. "Hello, brother dear. How _are_ you?"

* * *

I shivered slightly, not liking this at all. _It's fine. I'll be fine. The hound wasn't that scary. Some drug induced hallucination will be no problem._ I attempted to reassure myself as I trailed after John. We'd just exited the lift and were heading towards Stapleton's lab as the last few scientists left and flicked out some of the lights. I hated the fact that I was slightly more awake now, thanks to the coffee and grumbled quietly under my breath as I looked around the room.

"Oh, I'm going to kill him when we're out of here."

"Sam, over here!" John called an I begrudgingly followed after him as he opened a door.

He tapped on the glass of the next one before getting us through, and we looked around until I spotted the leaking pipe.

"I hope this is _supposed_ to be leaking." I muttered as John and I headed back, only to be suddenly blinded by lights.

"Oh, God." John grimaced as I did the same, opening my eyes and finding the room far brighter than I wished.

An alarm went off then, making me groan and bring a hand to my already aching head as John grabbed my hand and tugged me back to the door we'd entered through. He slid the ID we had, but it wasn't opening the door. And then, everything went dark. John pulled out a torch and I winced upon remembering what had happened in the moor, my ankle having been throbbing ever since. _Trying to hide a limp is harder than it looks._

"Hello?" John called out as we both tried to blink the after image of the lights from our eyes.

"John, can I kill him? _Please_ tell me I can kill him once we're out of here."

John didn't answer when there was a clatter and he dropped my hand to go check it out only to pull off a few sheets until he reached the one to the monkey's cage. I cringed when it screeched.

"God, I _hate_ monkeys!" I shouted, before John called out in concern.

"Sam? Sam, come look at this."

I shuffled over to see him pointing his torch at a dented up cage, before he grabbed my hand and tugged me to the other door to try again to get it to open.

"No, come on. Come on." He breathed out before abandoning that to try and call Sherlock. "No, you… Don't be ridiculous, pick up. Oh, dammit." He whispered, pulling me along.

"John, there's nothing here." I pressed, hoping that by letting him know now would prevent him from possibly dragging me along with him.

 _Dammit, why did that damn dog have to grab my ankle?!_ I mentally shouted as John pulled me down behind some crates before making a bolt for a third door.

"John, it's not going to work! It didn't work on the other two, so why—"

"I'm _not_ giving up, Sam." He snapped at me, letting me go to try anyway, only to whip around in fear.

"John?" I asked, knowing that he could hear the hound, but I'd yet to hear or see anything myself.

He covered his mouth before suddenly running for it, leaving me behind.

"John! John, it's not real!" I called out, but he wasn't listening as he locked himself in one of the cages in his panic. "Dammit, John. Come on." I breathed out, before I heard it.

I stiffened, freezing in place, because I hadn't heard the growl of the hound. Oh, no, it was far worse than that.

"J-John? Please tell me that's you laughing."

It wasn't though. I knew _exactly_ who it was, but I also knew what was happening, and I refused to let it get to me.

"S-Sherlock? Sherlock, you can stop now." I said, stuttering as my body reacted in fear despite my mind telling me the laughter wasn't real. "I-I know what's going on. I know w-what you're trying to do, but i-it's r-really not nice. P-Please?"

" _Well, since you asked so nicely.~_ "

I jumped, scrambling away from the voice that had breathed into my left ear. "Sherlock!" I cried out, panic welling up in me as I tripped trying to run from the cackling laughter of Moriarty growing closer and closer.

" _Let's play a game, Sammy.~_ "

I was beginning to panic, grimacing in the pain in my ankle as I shifted away from the figure attempting to approach me. My back hit a wall and I shoved the side of my hand into my mouth to keep from letting out a cry of fear. _It's not real. It's not real. It's not real!_ And then the lights flicked on and it was gone.

* * *

"It's here." John breathed out, seeing the shadow of the hound moving towards him, before the sheet was pulled aside and Sherlock stood there; the lights now back on in the lab.

"Are you alright? John?"

"Jesus Christ." John breathed out, getting out from the cage he'd shut himself in and speaking breathlessly. "It was the hound, Sherlock. It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. It must… It must…" John looked around in concern. "Did... Did… Did you see it? You _must_ have!"

"It's alright. It's okay now." Sherlock attempted to calm him, casting a short glance around for Sam.

"No, it's not!" John shouted at the top of his lungs. "It's not okay! I saw it. I was wrong."

Sherlock made a face. "Well, let's not jump to conclusions."

"What?" John questioned as Sherlock turned to look around some more.

"What did you see?" Sherlock countered.

"I told you. I saw the hound."

"Huge, red eyes?"

"Yes." John nodded.

"Glowing."

"Yeah."

"No." Sherlock countered, moving towards the desks and spotting Sam in a corner of the room.

"What?"

"I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I _told_ you. You have been drugged. We have _all_ been drugged."

"Drugged?" John breathed out, but Sherlock frowned then. "What? What is it? Sherlock, what—"

"I've made a mistake." Sherlock breathed out, eyes shifting wildly over Sam as he held John back with a hand. "A grave mistake."

"What mistake, Sherlock? What is it? I—" John cut himself off as he spotted what Sherlock had found. "Oh, God. Sam."

The young woman was cowering in a corner, tears slipping down her face as her frantic eyes locked onto them. She had her hand stuffed in her mouth in a vain attempt to hide the panicked breathing and whimpers; biting hard enough to draw blood.

"The hound did this?" John questioned, both of them cautious about approaching her and possibly causing her to panic further.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. She knew about the hound. About all of this. No, this is something else. You saw the hound because that's what you expected to see. She never expected to see the hound because she knew it wasn't real. The actual hound doesn't exist. She expected to see whatever this drug is supposed to do." He concluded, mind racing as he tried to figure out the point behind the drug and why Sam was in this condition. "Why did the drug show the hound to Henry Knight? What is the hound to him?"

"What he's afraid of." John answered, still confused until Sherlock looked at him on concern.

"And what is _Sam_ afraid of?"

John's eyes widened. "Oh, God. Moriarty. She thought Moriarty was coming after her again. But she knew it wasn't real!"

"Doesn't mean the drug's effects don't _appear_ real." Sherlock countered, moving towards Sam slowly and kneeling down. "Sam? Sam, it's alright. You're safe."

Sam was looking right at him and Sherlock was hoping that the drug had worn off enough that she was seeing him and not Moriarty. He reached out slowly, stopping when she tried to shift backwards for a moment, before trying again. He lightly grabbed her wrist and she relaxed slightly at his touch as he called to her.

"Sam, it's okay. It wasn't real. It was a drug. You're safe. I promise you."

She nodded shakily, allowing him to tug her hand from her mouth as a small choked sob escaped her and she started to shake slightly. Sherlock didn't do well with people who cried, and he was sure she understood that, judging by her previous actions when she felt the need arising. Right now though, things were different. Sherlock had done this to her by not thinking things through thoroughly enough. While it wasn't okay to do this to either of them, believing you were being hunted down by someone who had _tortured_ you, was not what Sherlock had wanted to do. Having Sam go through that experience once was bad, causing it to happen again because he wanted proof of something? That was far worse.

So when she started to cry and paw at her face with her uninjured hand to stop the tears for him, he felt the need to do something in the way of comforting the distraught young woman. So he pulled her into his arms and sat back on the ground as she cried into his shoulder and he shushed her softly. John was rather surprised by the display of caring from Sherlock himself, but for once, he wouldn't tease the man about his feelings for Sam. She was hurting, and this was the least Sherlock could do.


	15. Chapter 15

I don't remember when I walked to Stapleton's lab with Sherlock and John. I suppose I was in shock, though instead of a blanket, Sherlock had draped his coat over my shoulders as I sat on a stool near him. He was scowling through a microscope at white crystals when my mind finally clicked back into place and I'd realized where we were and what had happened.

"It's not the sugar." I croaked out, wincing at my hoarse voice and clearing my throat as Sherlock continued on; probably too focused to have heard me. "Sherlock."

When he still didn't respond, I sighed and grabbed the marker he'd been using before leading it up towards the cheek he had facing me. _That_ got his attention.

"If you mark me with that, I will ensure that we have fish for dinner."

I wrinkled my nose, setting the marker down. "You weren't listening."

He sighed heavily, turning to me in annoyance. " _What_?"

"It's not the sugar." I repeated, ignoring his frustrated tone.

It wasn't towards me, after all, not really.

"What do you mean, it's not the sugar. It _has_ to be the sugar." Sherlock argued.

"Sugar?" John questioned, having overheard.

"The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination." Sherlock rattled off in explanation. "I saw the hound. Saw it as my imagination expected me to see it. A genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight. He saw it too but you and Sam didn't, John. You didn't see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing. You and Sam don't take sugar in your coffee."

"I see. So…"

"I took it from Henry's kitchen. His sugar." Sherlock snipped shortly. "But Sam says it's not the sugar."

"Maybe it's not a drug." John tried, but I shook my head.

"It's a drug, John."

Sherlock sat down and pressed his fingers to his head. "But how did it get into our systems? _How_?"

He turned to me, but I shook my head, standing up myself.

"Don't look at me. I can give you hints, but you're never happy when I give too much away. You'll figure it out, but I just…" I winced, tugging his coat tighter around me as I remembered what happened back in the lab earlier. "I-I need a smoke."

"Good, yes. Perfect." Sherlock turned to John and Stapleton. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get out. I need to go to my mind palace."

John rolled his eyes, standing and grabbing his jacket as Stapleton continued to question him.

"Your what?"

Sherlock wasn't listening though and John made for the door.

"He's not going to be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go, as Sam said."

She was still confused. "His what?"

"Oh, his mind palace." John explained as they walked. "It's a memory technique. A sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location—it doesn't have to be a real place—and then you deposit memories there that… _theoretically_ , you can never forget anything. All you have to do is find your way back to it."

"So this imaginary location can be anything? A house or a street?"

I nodded. "Most people use someplace familiar to keep track of things. Mine's a library, though I don't use it as often as Sherlock."

"But he said 'palace'." She gaped. "He said it was a _palace_."

"Yeah, well… he would, wouldn't he?"

John kept an eye on me while I smoked, rubbing at my temples and trying to forget what had happened. I knew it would take a lot more than just locking it away in the back of my mind, but that was how I was going to have to deal with it for now. I didn't have much choice.

"You okay?" John asked, heading over and sitting beside me as I snuffed out a third cigarette.

I scoffed. "Course not, but I'm not stupid. Dwelling on it isn't going to help me get over it anytime soon. I'll bump into him again anyway. That's the fun part about knowing everything ahead of everyone else." I commented bitterly. "I know exactly when he's going to pop back up again, what's going to happen when he does, and I get to live with knowing how everyone's going to get hurt. And I get to go through those thoughts time and time again to see what I can and can't give away. To see where I can change things to help and where I have to stand back and watch. This little episode just shows that I need to work harder to get over him and what he did to me. I won't be able to face him or Sherlock otherwise."

John was silent for a moment as I looked at the pack of cigarettes in my hands and considered lighting a fourth.

"I'm sorry." He finally said, making me look at him in confusion. "I… I never really thought of what you had to go through knowing the future and everything. To me it just seemed like something helpful, but it's not, is it? It's hard."

I looked back down, nodding, before he hopped off his own stool and gestured to the door.

"Come on. We best go check up on him and make sure he's not getting into more trouble."

I smiled a little at that and hopped down as well to trail after him as we headed back to the lab, grabbing Stapleton along the way. He was finished and demanded to get access to the computers, leaving John to guard the door as I hovered nearby; coatless after returning Sherlock's.

"Project H.O.U.N.D. Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana." He rattled off as Stapleton tried to access it, but she was denied.

"That's as far as my access goes, I'm afraid."

"Well, there must be an override and password." John argued.

"I imagine so, but that'd be Major Barrymore's. Sam?"

I blinked, confused for a moment as I considered just telling him. "Do you, uh, want to just know it? Or look clever?"

Sherlock smirked and I rolled my eyes, willing to let him do his thing and figure it out himself.

"Check his office. And it's not Churchill."

Stapleton was curious though. "Hold on, why are you asking her?"

"Long story and not one you need to know." Sherlock replied shortly as he gazed around Barrymore's office. "Password, password, password. He sat here when he thought it up. Describe him to me." He ordered Stapleton.

"You've seen him."

"He means describe his character." I piped in, wanting to rush things along a little bit with Henry possibly going nuts out on the moor by now.

"Uh, he's a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort of man they'd have sent into Suez."

"Good, excellent. Old-fashioned, traditionalist; not the sort that would use his children's names as a password." Sherlock rambled, gesturing to a children's drawings on the board above the desk he was now sitting at. "He loves his job; proud of it and this is work-related, so what's at eye level? Books. Jane's Defence Weekly; bound copies. Hannibal, Wellington, Rommel, Churchill's 'History of the English-Speaking Peoples'; all four volumes, but Sam said it wasn't Churchill."

He continued to look around as I fidgeted anxiously.

"Mid 1980s at a guess. Father and son. Barrymore senior." He rattled on, spotting a photo and getting John's attention. "Medals. Distinguished Service Order."

"That date?" John added. "I'd say Falklands veteran."

"Right, so it's Thatcher." Sherlock nodded and Stapleton looked stunned.

"So, that's the password?"

"No. With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name terms would do."

"Password's seven characters max." I mused and he nodded, typing in 'Maggie'.

The override password was accepted and he quickly skimmed through the information on Project H.O.U.N.D. before everyone spotted where the letters themselves had come from: the project leaders' last names.

"Hound." Stapleton breathed out, whereas John was grimacing at the information and photos on the screen.

I simply chose to look away, having experienced first had how quickly the hallucinogenic could cripple someone with fear.

"Project HOUND: a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus, but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986." Sherlock summed up.

"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on."

"And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane. Made them almost uncontrollably aggressive."

"So, someone's been doing it again? Carrying on the experiments?" John asked and Sherlock nodded.

"Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years."

"Who?" Stapleton questioned.

"Not a lead scientist, they'd be too old." I mused out-loud and Sherlock readily agreed.

"Someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986, but young enough to still be doing something today." He spotted Frankland then and understanding dawned on him. "Maybe somebody who says 'cell phone' because of time spent in America. You remember, John?"

John hummed, frowning.

"He gave us his number in case we needed him."

Stapleton figured it out as well. "Oh my God. Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn't even work on... I mean, he's a virologist. This was _chemical_ warfare."

"It's where he started, though ... and he's never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let's arrange a little meeting."

"No time." I interrupted him. "We need to get to the moor."

"Pardon?" Sherlock frowned and I pointed at John, just before his phone went off and he pulled it out with wide eyes.

"How did you—?"

I was rather surprised myself. "Lucky timing? I mean, I knew the call was coming, but ringing when I pointed was just dumb luck."

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked as John answered the phone and I answered him; tugging John and him from the lab by their sleeves.

"Mortimer. Henry's lost it, tried to shoot her, and has bolted into the moor thinking he's a monster. John? Did he actually get a shot off?"

"U-Uh, no." He said, hanging up the phone. "She said he believed he did, but the gun was empty."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I thought I'd forgotten about the bullet in the chamber."

They both turned to me in shock as we reached the jeep.

"You disarmed the gun?"

I nodded. "You didn't think I'd just hang out at Henry's overnight because I felt like it, did you? I actually got the man to sleep after encouraging him to go to a bedroom upstairs. The huge windows he has were asking for him to have nightmares." I scowled. "And some stupid squirrel was playing in his backyard. Nearly gave me a heart attack, not to mention what it would have done to him. Gave me a chance to grab the magazine of the gun, but I was half asleep when I thought of doing that, so I couldn't remember if I'd grabbed the bullet out of the chamber or not. He would have missed Mortimer either way, but I'd rather not take the chance."

"Excellent." Sherlock grinned, picking up his phone to call Lestrade as he messed up my hair fondly before climbing into the jeep. "Lestrade, get to the Hollow. Dewer's Hollow, now. And bring a gun."

* * *

The group rushed down into the Hollow just as Henry placed the pistol in his mouth; no one saying anything about the weapon not being armed, because the fact that the man was disturbed enough to resort to this was worrisome enough.

"Henry, no! No!" Sherlock shouted, causing Henry to stand and wave the gun their way in his panic.

"Get back. G-Get away from me!"

"Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax." John tried to sooth as Sam panted at the exertion of getting into the Hollow and winced at the pain in her ankle; which Sherlock and John had somehow missed in their previous concern.

"I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!" Henry shouted.

"Just put the gun down. It's okay." John urged, but Henry shook his head.

"No, no. I know what I am!"

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry." Sherlock said, trying a different approach. "It's all be explained to you, hasn't it? Explained very carefully."

"What?"

 _Good. Distracted him._ Sherlock mused, continuing on. "Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung on to, because you had started to remember. Remember now, Henry. You've _got_ to remember what happened here when you were a little boy."

Sherlock stepped closer, but Henry was struggling once more.

"I thought it had go my dad. The hound. I thought—Oh, oh Jesus. I don't—I don't know any more!"

He shoved the gun back into his mouth, but Sam called out now.

"Henry! Henry, stop!"

He hesitated, looking at her as she worried.

"Nothing happened, Henry. I-I understand that you're worried about Mortimer, but you didn't do anything. You just made her worried and a little scared, but for _you_! She called us to help you! And you need to think right now, because Sherlock's trying to explain what's going on. Someone has been drugging you, Henry. Drugging everyone who's been coming into the Hollow and you need to remember, because none of this is your fault."

"W-What?"

"Henry, remember." Sherlock said, drawing his attention back to him as John shifted towards the man as well. "'Liberty In.' Two words. Two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years go. You'd started to piece things together, remember what _really_ happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry? Not a monster. A _man._ "

Understanding began to dawn on Henry as John went and took the useless pistol from him.

"You couldn't cope. You were just a child, so you rationalized it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped. Driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called out, joining them as John helped calm Henry and Sam moved to Sherlock's side.

"You alright?" Sherlock muttered under his breath, knowing that they were undoubtedly being drugged up at this very moment somehow.

"For now." Sam said softly back and Sherlock made a mental note to keep an eye on her, should she show signs of experiencing what had happened back in the lab.

"But we saw it. The hound, last night." Henry breathed out. "We… We, we, we _did_. We saw—"

"Yeah, but there _was_ a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it. Saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus. That's how it works." Sherlock explained. "But there never was any monster."

A long howl rang out then and all eyes went up to the edge of the Hollow as Henry began to panic once more.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

Henry soon crumpled to his knees as Lestrade caught sight of the dog up on the ridge, stunning John.

"Greg, are you seeing this?" John asked, understanding the look Lestrade gave him and turning to Sherlock. "Right. He is not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that? _What is it_?!"

"Alright!" Sherlock said sharply back. "It's thill here. But it's just a dog. Henry! It's nothing more than an ordinary dog!"

"Fog." Sam said, catching Sherlock's attention. "Aerosol dispersal. That's what it said in the file. It's the fog. T-There was a leaking pipe in the lab too. That's how John and I got it."

The hound started coming down into the Hollow then, snarling and growling menacingly. Sherlock spotted movement out of the corner of his eye then, seeing a man in a gas mask. He rushed over, confronting the man and ripping off the mask to see Moriarty's grinning face.

"No. No, it's not you. Not here!" He shouted, turning the man to see Frankland covering his nose and mouth. "It's the fog, like Sam said! The drug is in the fog!"

Lestrade quickly threw his arm over his face, but Sam shook her head.

"It's too late. The moment we were down here, the fog drugged us." She said, before spotting the hound shifting and her eyes widened. "Lestrade, the hound!"

"For God's sake, kill it! Kill it!" Frankland bellowed and Lestrade tried, but missed.

"John!"

John fired off two shots and hit the beast as Sherlock grabbed Henry and forced the man to look at it and see it as it truly was; just a dog.

"It's just…" Henry turned to Frankland in fury. "You bastard. You _bastard_!" He tackled the man as Lestrade tried to pull him off. "Twenty years! Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?!"

They finally got him off as Sherlock frowned.

"Because dead men get listened to. He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet." He explained. "A chemical minefield. Pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here. Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once." Sherlock laughed happily. " _Oh_ , this case, Henry. Thank you. It's been brilliant."

" _Sherlock_." Sam and John both chided him.

"What?"

"Timing?" John replied.

"Not good?"

John went to respond, but Henry brushed it off.

"No, no. It's… It's okay. It's fine because this means…" Henry stalked towards Frankland. "This means that my dad was _right_. He found something out, didn't he, and that's why you'd killed him. Because he was _right._ He found you right in the middle of an experiment."

The dog wailed then, shifting and John killed it for good as Frankland bolted with Sam on his heels.

"Frankland!" Sherlock shouted, rushing after them as well.

"Frankland! Frankland, stop!" Sam cried out. "Don't go into the minefield! Please!"

He didn't listen though, racing through the forest and scrambling over the barbed wire. Sam cursed, throwing herself over it as well and managing to grab the man's leg before he could get much farther. He tried kicking at her to get her hand off, but she grit her teeth and held fast; long enough for Sherlock and John to get over to her and reach past to grab the man. They were still on the incline before the actual minefield, but were cautious enough as they hauled him back over and Lestrade cuffed him. With no possible chance of escaping now, Frankland sat on the ground as John and Sherlock went about untangling Sam from some of the barbed wire that had hooked itself into her pants when she'd dove over it to grab Frankland. It was then that Sherlock spotted the bloody bandages around her ankle and frowned at her.

"What is this? You got hurt?"

Sam winced as John pulled the last bit of wire off her and they helped her onto her feet cautiously.

"I _told_ you not to leave me at the top of the Hollow last night." She grumbled, shifting painfully. "I couldn't remember whether the hound showed up there or not and lucky me, he did."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock snapped and she frowned up at him.

"When? While you were panicking about your senses being wrong? When you and John were having a tiff?"

Sherlock grabbed her shoulders, trying to get some sense into her. "You can't keep things like that from us!"

"If I'd told you, you would have shut me up in the inn and Frankland would've been _dead_!" She shouted back, making him stop as she thrust a finger out at the minefield. "I kept my mouth shut because I knew he was going to make a bolt for it! He would have ran right out there, stepped on a mine and blew himself up and I didn't want any more people to die because I'd said nothing, alright!"

Things grew quiet between the group as Sam finally pulled a hand through her hair and turned away.

"Let's just _go_. I-I can't do this right now."

The group agreed and they returned to their cars; Lestrade taking Frankland away and the Baker Street trio sending Henry home before returning to the inn in tense silence.

* * *

A plate was placed in front of John and I and he heartily dug in as I prodded at my food in silence. My legs had scratches on them from the barbed wire, but nothing extensive, and my ankle was rather sore as well. John had patched me up earlier though, with a clean bill of health so long as I changed the bandages on my ankle every so often, but it was morning now and I still hadn't slept. I had tried, but the moment I closed my eyes, it was Moriarty's laughing face grabbing Sherlock and throwing themselves off a building. Even now, I sat with dark bags under my eyes, only half awake and waiting for the man to just pop out of a bush with a cheerful 'Surprise!'. A steaming mug of coffee was placed before me, tugging me from my daze as Sherlock decided to join us.

"So, they didn't have it put down then. The dog." He commented.

"Obviously." John hummed. "Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it."

"I see."

John smiled a bit. "No, you don't."

"No, I don't." Sherlock agreed. "Sentiment?"

"Sentiment." John nodded, though I knew that Sherlock probably had a _very_ good idea of things, despite his claims that he hadn't a clue. "Listen. What happened to us in the lab—"

"Do you want some sauce with that?" Sherlock tried to distract the man, but he continued on as though he hadn't interrupted.

"That was you, wasn't it? You said you made a mistake. You terrified Sam and I because you were convinced the drug was in the sugar." John scowled, before turning to me. "And you knew too."

I nodded slowly, eating some of the eggs on my plate. "That's why I saw Moriarty instead of the hound. The drug gives you visions of what you fear most at the time. I wasn't afraid of the hound. I was afraid of what the drug would show me. My worst fear."

I smiled bitterly, but the subject was dropped and brought back to the sugar.

"Wait, so you got it wrong." John mused, smiling at Sherlock.

"No."

"Mm, you were wrong." He pressed. "It wasn't in the sugar. You got it _wrong_."

Sherlock finally gave in. "A bit. It won't happen again."

John signed. "Any long-term effects?"

"None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it." His eyes shifted to me then. "Though Sam might require a sleeping draught… Apologies again."

I waved it off. "It's fine. I knew it was coming. I thought I was ready for it, seems not."

"We'll work on it." Sherlock smiled a bit and I managed to return one, before I reached over and hit him hard in the arm.

" _That_ is for the lab."

Sherlock frowned, rubbing at his arm. "Yes. Point taken."

We shared a laugh, but I felt a chill go down my spine as a thought occurred to me. _God, Moriarty…_


	16. Chapter 16

_Describing my experience with Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson is not an easy thing to do. I have learned so much in the year that I've been in Britain and a majority of which was through my experience with them. I cannot thank you enough, Professor, for the opportunity despite what happened in the end of it all. But this is not a paper depicting my year with the two detectives. This is a paper dedicated to Sherlock Holmes. A paper that I hope he would be proud of, because I am not about to dwell on what happened to him more recently. I wish only to write on what he has done. His deductive skills, the psyche of him and his enemies that I assisted in helping him arrest, and how psychology and criminology played a heavy role in the time that I spent helping with his cases. He would rather it that way, I believe. Less embellishing than John's stories, more factual, more… curious. And how else could I do that, than by starting at the end? The beginning of the end and the man who started it all: Moriarty._

* * *

 _ **Three months earlier:**_

"'Boffin.'" Sherlock snapped tossing down another tabloid. "'Boffin Sherlock Holmes.'"

"Everybody gets one." John mused as Sam typed away on her computer beside him; trying to finish up her paper before her deadline and returning to America.

Yet another thing that had Sherlock frustrated. Sam hardly seemed to care she was leaving.

"One what?"

"Tabloid nickname." John responded, looking over the paper himself. "'SuBo', Nasty Nick'. Shouldn't worry. I'll probably get one soon."

"Page five, column six. First sentence." Sherlock spouted out and John quickly flipped through to find it as Sherlock picked up the deerstalker hat that the police station had given him and punched it.

"Why is it always the hat photograph?" Sherlock complained.

"People like it." Sam said, not looking away from her paper. "People like the hat. Gives you character or something."

She shrugged as Sherlock frowned and John began complaining about his tabloid nickname.

"' _Bachelor_ John Watson?'"

"What sort of hat is it anyway?" Sherlock went on.

"Deerstalker." Sam hummed.

"'Bachelor'?" John scowled. "What the hell are they implying?"

"That you're single, bored, and available." Sam tacked on, settling for commenting on both of their rhetorical questions.

"Is it a cap?" Sherlock asked, flipping the hat around. "Why has it got two fronts?"

"To protect your face and neck from long exposure to the sun while you're hunting."

"'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson'…" John quoted as Sam rolled her eyes and shut her computer.

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do? Throw it?" Sherlock frowned as John looked further down the article.

"…' _confirmed_ bachelor John Watson'!"

"Some sort of death Frisbee?" Sherlock muttered, swinging the hat now as Sam sighed and rubbed at her eyes.

"Okay. This is too much. We need to be more careful." John declared as Sherlock frowned.

"It's got flaps. Ear flaps. It's an _ear_ hat, John."

"To keep your ears warm when you're hunting in colder weather, Sherlock." Sam chimed as he moved to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Yes." Sherlock and John both called out and Sherlock threw the hat to John, who caught it easily. "What do you mean, more careful?"

"I mean, this isn't a deerstalker now. It's a Sherlock Holmes hat." John explained. "I mean that you're not exactly a _private_ detective any more. You're this far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock droned as he sat in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin.

"It'd _better_ pass. The press _will_ turn, Sherlock. They always turn and they'll turn on you." John urged and Sherlock lowered his hands to look at him.

"It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes." John agreed seriously.

"About me? I don't understand. Why would it upset you?" Sherlock frowned in confusion and John looked to see if he was serious before turning away.

"Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a _little_ case this week. Stay out of the news."

John flipped open a paper again, settling back on the couch as Sam walked in with the tea; passing John his first and then Sherlock.

"You really should, you know." She commented, making both men watch her as she moved back to her computer. "Or at least think up a plan should they turn."

"What are you hinting at, Sam?" Sherlock complained and Sam looked at him with a tired gaze that made Sherlock sit up, almost in concern. "What? What is it?"

"Something's coming." She said simply, looking away. "And we all need to be prepared for it, because there's nothing I can do this time around. It all has to play out exactly as it should and no one is going to be happy."

Sherlock didn't like that response and went to press for something other than her riddles, but as he looked her over, he changed his mind. He already knew she hadn't been sleeping well, and was taking John's sleeping draughts when she needed to. She had been distracted too, though Sherlock assumed it was this paper she needed finished. She'd been hitting the backspace key enough to wear down the word printed on it, last he checked. _Getting nowhere then._ Her anxious habits were starting up again as well, and he'd seen her offering to go out to the store more; undoubtedly to buy the packs of cigarettes she'd been plowing through when she thought no one was looking. Whatever was coming, it wasn't good, and Sherlock was determined to take care of it before the real Sam slipped back behind that quiet and submissive mask once more. It had taken him this long to pry her true self out. He wasn't about to let something mess that up.

* * *

True to his word, Sherlock stayed out of the news as best he could and I appreciated it. I had been lucky enough to stay out of it myself with Sherlock brushing off my existence to those bringing us more important cases. After informing him how I could get sent back home early should I be in the news, he'd been quick to keep me out of the papers. _That, and if my brothers got word, they'd maim him_ and _me._ What I wasn't sure of though, was when exactly Moriarty broke into the bank, prison, and Tower of London. And with the date for my departure looming over my head, I was concerned that I might very well not be around when the Fall happens. Something I wanted to adamantly stick around for. While I wouldn't be able to change much of anything—Sherlock needed to fall, Moriarty needed to die, and John needed to stay cluelessly uninvolved—I did want to be there as some sort of support. For Sherlock and his decision, and for John after the fact. However, with Moriarty interested in _me_ as well, things were going to change. Things that I couldn't even begin to predict.

"Sam, the bath is free." John said, having exited the bathroom in a robe and I nodded, pulling off my headphones and closing the document in front of me as I went ahead to go shower and change.

I welcomed the shower, the hot water relaxing my tense muscles instantly, because while Sherlock and John assumed I had been writing my paper lately, the truth was I was writing up various scenarios to the mess we were about to end up in. I'd written up the way it was supposed to go without my involvement, then wondered what I could say to help and how it might have changed the ending. It wasn't easy, guessing the move of someone I knew only from a television series, much less someone as unpredictable as Moriarty, so it was no wonder I was having difficulties. I sighed, cutting my shower short as my thinking had ruined whatever relaxing I'd been doing, and I began to get dressed. My phone buzzed on the sink and I frowned, picking it up to check only half dressed with my pants on and a towel around my neck hiding my chest.

 _Excited to play with you again_

 _Sammy~_

 _Jim Moriarty x_

I paled, swallowing thickly and resisting the bodily urge to chuck my phone to the ground as I read and reread the message. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, tightening my grip on the phone before letting it out and glaring determinedly at my fogged reflection in the mirror. _Let the games begin._

* * *

"That glass is tougher than anything." Lestrade commented now that Sherlock, John and Sam had joined him at the Tower of London to watch over the footage of Moriarty's break in to wear the Crown Jewels.

"Not tougher than crystallized carbon." Sherlock mused, seeing Moriarty place a small diamond in the gum he stuck to the glass. "He used a diamond."

Lestrade backed the footage up though, revealing the message Moriarty had written on the glass.

 _Get Sherlock_

It wasn't long before Moriarty was to go on trial and as Sherlock, John and Sam pulled on formal suits, Sherlock eyed her. He was the only one who had been called as a witness, thanks to Mycroft managing to keep Sam's kidnapping a secret, but something was off about the young woman. Sherlock could tell easily enough. She'd barely said a word since he'd gotten the message from Moriarty and her brows were permanently furrowed in the middle. He couldn't quite tell if she was angry or worried, but he didn't like the effect Moriarty's reappearance was having on her. He'd asked her the previous night if she wanted to stay at Baker Street for the first part of the trial, seeing as she wanted to avoid publicity, however, she had been adamant about going. It was a definite change in the woman who could hardly speak his name up until the end of the Irene Adler fiasco. He only hoped that it wasn't just a front and she'd be able to keep up her determined mask when face-to-face with the man.

They headed downstairs and Sherlock glanced at Sam.

"You sure?"

She nodded, tugging at the tie around her neck to loosen it slightly; having chosen a suit over a dress, as Sherlock expected.

John looked between them both. "Ready?"

"Yes." Sherlock said and he opened the door as they hurried past the bustling paparazzi.

A police car drove them to the court and after a moment, John turned to Sherlock.

"Remember—"

"Yes." Sherlock cut him off.

"Remember—"

He did it a second time. "Yes."

John looked at Sam pointedly and she closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Try to be slightly less of an arse."

Sherlock smirked, glad to hear some of her sass. "No."

She shot him a look and John continued.

"And _please_ , just keep it simple and brief."

"God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent." Sherlock drawled.

"Intelligent, fine. Let's give smart-arse a wide berth." John countered and there was a pause before Sherlock spoke again.

"I'll just be myself."

"Are you listening to me?" John complained. "Sam, control him."

Sam scoffed. " _Me_? I'm not his mother. So long as he doesn't get kicked out of court before he says his bit, I could honestly care less."

"Good God, you're influencing _her_ now!"

"I try." Sherlock grinned and Sam nudged him with a small quirk of her lips herself.

Once they arrived, John and Sam began to head to the courtroom as Sherlock chose to use the facilities before they started, but Sam paused and grabbed him.

"Hm?"

She frowned. "I'll tell you this now, and I hope you listen. It probably won't change much, but do me a favor and play nice with the reporter."

Sherlock scowled. "A reporter?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yes, shut up. I know. A reporter, journalist, whatever. Just give her something. Don't upset her. You'll thank me later, if you do."

Sherlock continued to frown, but Sam released him and started to catch up with John, only to pause again and look at him.

"Good luck."

Sherlock's lip twitched. "And you."

* * *

I mentally berated myself for giving Sherlock that advice. _I'm not sure he'll listen, but as much as I hate Kitty, if she doesn't hate Sherlock as much it's possible for some things to change in this. Hopefully for the better._ John paused by the door and reached over to squeeze my shoulder comfortingly.

"You alright?" He asked, probably noticing my tenseness and I nodded, taking a deep breath as we entered and moved inside to sit in the public gallery upstairs.

I could feel his eyes on me the moment we stepped through the doors; Moriarty. I tried to ignore it, but knew I would have to make eye contact at some point and decided that it should be on my terms. As soon as we found our seats and sat, I locked eyes with the man. A chill went through me as he smirked and I glared. Images of his grinning face had haunted my nightmares since he'd taken me and already I could feel an ache where his sniper had shot me at the pool. I had prepared for this though. I'd done my best, anyway. I'd gotten photos and used them as my laptop background, I'd named my files Moriarty documents, Moriarty pictures, etcetera. I constantly reminded myself of him after my panic attack at Baskerville and pushed myself to get used to his face, his laughter, everything. I _had_ to. But nothing could prepare me for meeting him face-to-face. His very essence trickled into my bones and made my hands shake, but I forced myself not to look away. _I can be as scared as I want, but I won't let him have the satisfaction of seeing me that way._

The trial began then and Sherlock soon ended up on the witness stand to testify against Moriarty, though I already knew what sort of problems he would cause.

"A 'consulting criminal'." The prosecutor announced and Sherlock nodded.

"Yes."

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating." The prosecutor clarified and I rolled my eyes.

 _What are they, morons?_

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler." Sherlock quipped, earning a few chuckles here and there.

"Would you describe him as—"

"Leading." Sherlock cut her off.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness." Sherlock announced, looking at the defender. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

The judge looked finished with Sherlock before he'd even started and I wondered what strings Lestrade had to pull to get him in charge of Sherlock's case.

"Mr. Holmes." The judge sighed and Sherlock ignored him.

"Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help." The judge chided him as I spotted Kitty coming in and attempted to see if she was put off or not.

 _Can't tell much, though it doesn't look it. Wow, perhaps he listened._

" _How_ would you describe this man—his character?" The prosecutor continued, drawing my attention back.

"First mistake. James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider; a spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances." Sherlock rattled on and I held back a wince as Moriarty nodded as though accepting that definition of himself.

"And how long—"

Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "No, no. Don't. Don't do that. That's really not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes." The judge snapped and Sherlock begrudgingly gave in.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up, and shot a good friend of mine. I felt we had something special." Sherlock spat out, a bit harsher than I remember in the show, but then again; this wasn't a show anymore.

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?" The judge questioned but Sherlock responded.

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample."

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh, really?"

John brought a hand to his face, knowing what was about to happen, and he grumbled under his breath. "I get that he's trying to protect you, but honestly?"

I blinked. "Protect me? From what?" I whispered and John looked a bit nervous at me having heard that, apparently; Sherlock down below deducing the jury at a rapid pace.

"Testifying." John muttered back, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in to us. "Lestrade was insistent you take the stand because you were kidnapped and would know Moriarty better than anyone having been with him for the longest. Sherlock and him argued about it, because word would get out about your kidnapping. Sherlock managed to convince him otherwise and promised to go up onto the stand and behave himself, so long as you remained uninvolved."

I glanced down at Sherlock in shocked disbelief, never having expected that from him, much less towards me.

"Anyway, should his testimony get thrown out, they would need a better witness. Lestrade would have no choice but to pick you." John continued.

"So he's proving that he can be a reliable witness after just two minutes with Moriarty…" I breathed out, unsure what to think as my heart raced with an emotion I didn't recognize. "C-Christ… Why the hell would he do that for _me_?"

John looked shocked now. "You… You really don't…"

I looked at him with wide eyes, only further proving that I had no idea why Sherlock would treat me this way and John grabbed my arm.

"Sam, he honestly cares for you. More than you could imagine."

"B-But—"

I was cut off as the judge shouted lividly and a guard went ahead and arrested Sherlock. Our discussion was quickly forgotten as John groaned and a recess was called; the two of us getting up to go bail Sherlock out. I offered to stay outside and wait while John went to go finish watching the trial; knowing that nothing after Sherlock's arrest would be interesting and not wanting to sit in a room where Moriarty could just stare at me the whole time. It wasn't until the trial was over that Sherlock was finally released and John joined me.

"What did we say?" John complained as Sherlock got his things from the guard. "We said, 'don't get clever.'"

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap." Sherlock said back as we headed off. "Well?"

"Well, what?" John questioned.

"You two were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Not me." I interjected, earning a raised brow. "I knew it would be boring and his staring was driving me up the wall."

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement as John went ahead and told what happened—or didn't happen—for the rest of the trial.

"Like you said it would be. He sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"Moriarty's not mounting any defense."

We headed back to Baker Street in relative silence; Sherlock trying to figure out Moriarty's game plan while John did much the same. I though, yawned tiredly, having not taken a sleeping draught the previous night and having a hard time sleeping. We were soon back home and John started speaking out loud to help Sherlock try and piece things together.

"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why. All we know is—"

"—he ended up in custody." Sherlock finished for him, pacing as John sat in his chair and myself making tea, before he stopped.

"Don't do that." John sighed, making Sherlock frown in confusion.

"Do what?"

"The look."

"Look?"

"You're doing the look again." John repeated.

"Well, I can't see it, can I?"

John gestured to the mirror above the fireplace and Sherlock looked at his reflection with a frown as I wandered out and leaned against the doorframe to watch the two in amusement.

"It's my face."

"Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're doing the 'we all know what's really going on here' face." John explained.

"Well, we _do_."

"No. _I_ don't. Which is why I find the face so annoying."

I snorted. "You didn't even try, John."

John turned to me, pouting. "You don't get a say. You know more than both of us."

I shrugged, unable to argue with that and sipped at my tea as Sherlock explained what he'd figured out.

"If Moriarty wanted the jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he _chose_ to be there." He said, pacing again. "Somehow, this is part of his scheme."

"Well, while you figure that out, I think I'll go ahead and take one of your sleeping pills, John." I hummed. "I could do with a decent night's sleep."

John looked surprised. "You're not going tomorrow?"

I shook my head as he got up to go get the pill. "Nah. It's no fun knowing what's going to happen already. I'll stay and catch upon lost sleep. Sherlock's banned from court anyway, so I can keep him company."

"Well, if you're sure." John gave in easily enough and he handed it over.

Needless to say, I was asleep quickly enough as Nina Simone's "Sinnerman" played in my headphones; hoping that I would remain asleep when Moriarty decided to pay Sherlock his visit.

* * *

Sam's prayers were not answered when she woke up with a groan, laying an arm over her face to hide the fact that she'd had another nightmare when the sleeping draught had worn off. Sherlock chose to ignore this, knowing that Sam didn't care for her overactive emotions to be witnessed, and he kept his eyes shut as he dozed. He was awaiting the call from John telling him what he already knew was inevitable. Moriarty was not guilty. This was another way of him showing just how much power he had, just as he did with breaking into England's three most secured places at once. Like Sherlock, he was showing off. Sherlock simply wondered if he should slip another sleeping draught into the tea Sam had gotten up to make or not.

She'd done well in the courtroom, thankfully, though he doubted the same could be said for when the man would walk into the room and join them for tea. Before, Moriarty's attention wasn't focused on her. Now, it very well might be. And with Moriarty's knack for getting into people's heads, he could only hope that Sam had better control over hers than before. Allowing Moriarty to get to her, would only be playing into his hands. Sherlock hoped Sam understood that and would remove herself from the situation should the need arise. A tray with a tea set was placed beside him on a small table and he looked up to see Sam.

"I'll be fine." She said, setting his worries aside with the confident look in her eyes. "You're not the only one who has been preparing for him to come back."

"I take it, you knew." He mused, closing his eyes once more as she went about gathering up the scattered tabloids on the table and setting them aside.

"Again, I know more than you would think." She said, though he caught the tightness to her voice betraying how much that sentence bothered her. "The one thing I don't know is my own part in this play. Moriarty's return was inevitable. The only thing I _could_ do was prepare for it. You should see my screensaver."

Sherlock peered an eye open as she went into the bathroom to get dressed. He took that chance to quickly sneak a peek at her laptop and—upon finding it unlocked for him already—he winced. A grinning picture of Moriarty peered up at him; something he only assumed was a gift she'd managed to get from Mycroft or Lestrade. His eyes scanned the rest of her desktop, making note of the file names as well, before he shut it off and went to get dressed himself; unable to help the small chuckle that escaped him. _Shouldn't underestimate her. She'd make for a worthy opponent._

Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play some Bach, listening all the while for Moriarty's entrance into 221 Baker Street. Sam didn't take long in the bathroom either and was soon out and lounging on the couch with her laptop; not bothering with headphones while he played and lolled her into her own little world. There was a creak on the stairs and Sherlock paused in his playing momentarily before continuing as the awaited man himself waltzed in.

"Most people knock." Sherlock muttered as Sam briefly glanced up from her computer at Moriarty. "But then you're not 'most people' I suppose. Kettle's just boiled."

Moriarty wandered over towards Sam though, looking right at her blue eyes silently before grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table beside her.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled." Moriarty commented, tossing the apple and catching it before looking around. "May I?"

"Please." Sherlock mused, pointing his bow at John's chair, except Moriarty sat in his instead.

Sherlock didn't look pleased, but Sam shifted and brought his attention to her. She simply looked at him, saying so much and nothing at all, and he allowed the unnerved expression to fall from his face as Moriarty pulled out a penknife and carved up his apple.

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end—"

"—and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano, and finished it." Sherlock concluded for him, pouring him tea.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody."

"Neither can you. That's why you've come."

"But be honest. You're just a tiny bit pleased." Moriarty mused.

"What? With the verdict?" Sherlock asked, handing him the tea.

"With _me_. Back on the streets." Moriarty looked up at Sherlock, grinning. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain." He turned to Sam then. "And a damsel in distress."

"Piss off." Sam spat, not even looking at him as she typed away.

Moriarty's lip twitched in amusement. "You need me, or you're nothing." He said, looking back at Sherlock. "Because we're alike, you and I. Except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels."

Moriarty shook his head in disappointment as Sherlock made a deduction.

"Got to the jury, of course."

"I got into the Tower of London." Moriarty said, glancing at Sam with a frown when she scoffed. "You think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network." Sherlock mused.

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen and every person has their pressure point. Someone they want to protect from harm. Easy-peasy."

Sam resisted a shiver when he said this, Moriarty's eyes shifting between her and Sherlock like he had some secret he wasn't sharing. Sherlock, though, removed his coat and sat down in John's chair, sipping his tea as well.

"So, how're you going to do it? Burn me?"

"Oh, that's the problem. The final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?" Moriarty asked. "What's the final problem? I did tell you, but did you listen?" He sang. "I'm sure Sammy dear knows. She seems to know a lot, despite appearances. Don't you?" He hummed, turning his attention to her as he drummed his fingers on his knee; Sherlock watching the movement. "It's a shame he picked you up before I did. We could have had some fun, I think. How's the shoulder, by the way? Still stiff?"

Sam still didn't look at him. "I'll happily shoot you, if you want to know what it's like."

"Ooh, tetchy." He chuckled, watching her curiously. "You've certainly got some bite now. More than before, anyway. You actually talk back. Did Sherlock do that? Push you to the edge until you had no choice but to push back? Ooh, I wish I could have seen that. The most I got was you saying 'no'."

Sherlock caught the flinch in Sam's hand, the stiffness in her shoulder and the way her eyes stopped focusing on the laptop in front of her. He wondered if Moriarty noticed, but it was so subtle he wasn't sure. Sam was doing a good job. Sherlock didn't want her giving in now. He needed to take the attention off her before Moriarty could sink his claws in deeper.

"I don't know." He said nonchalantly, making Moriarty turn back with a small smile.

"Oh, that's clever. That's very clever. _Awfully_ clever." He chuckled making Sherlock plant a smile on his face and hope the man hadn't caught on to what he had been doing. "Speaking of clever have you two told you little friends yet?"

"Told them what?" Sherlock asked.

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything."

"No."

"But _you_ understand." Moriarty confirmed.

"Obviously."

"Off you go then." The man encouraged, waving part of the apple he'd carved at him before eating it.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?"

"No. I want you to _prove_ that you know it." They bantered.

"You didn't take anything because you don't _need_ to."

"Good."

"You'll never need to take anything ever again."

"Very good. Because?"

"Because nothing… _nothing_ in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three." Sherlock concluded as Sam bit her tongue to stay quiet.

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now. They're all mine. No such thing as secrecy. I _own_ secrecy. Nuclear codes. I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you should _see_ me in a crown." Moriarty sung happily as he grinned, missing Sam swallow thickly.

"You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do." Sherlock said.

"And you were helping. Big client list. Rogue governments, intelligence communities, terrorist cells. They all want me. Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex." Moriarty hummed, eating another piece of his fruit.

"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?"

"I don't. I just like to watch them all competing. 'Daddy loves _me_ best!' Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know. You've got John. I should get myself a live-in one. Someone slightly less ordinary. Do you want the job, Sammy?"

"No." Sam said shortly and he smirked.

" _There's_ that word."

"Why are you doing all of this?" Sherlock cut in, distracting Moriarty so he didn't see Sam close her eyes and take a deep breath to compose herself.

"It'd be so funny." Moriarty hummed, still thinking about having Sam join him as he stabbed into his apple.

"You don't want money or power. Not really." Sherlock continued. "What is it all for?"

Moriarty leaned forward. "I want to solve the problem. _Our_ problem. The final problem. It's going to start very soon, Sherlock. The fall."

He whistled as though something were falling and hitting the ground, missing Sherlock's brief glance at Sam, who was gritting her teeth tightly now.

"But don't be scared." Moriarty comforted. "Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination."

Sherlock stood, fixing his shirt with a blank expression. "I never liked riddles."

Moriarty did the same. "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I… _owe_ … you." They went silent before Moriarty moved to leave, giving Sam a smirk. "And I'll be seeing you again, my dear Sammy. You can ignore me all you want, but I won't _ever_ forget you're here."

He walked out then, neither Sam nor Sherlock moving until the door to 221 closed behind him and Sherlock picked up the apple the man left behind. Stabbed with the penknife, 'IOU' was carved into it. Sealing the deal and labeling both his and Sam's fate.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Two months later:**_

I was exhausted. I had tried, really. I warned him and somehow, Kitty still got ahold of Moriarty's info and published it. It was frustrating, but I let it go for now. I had barely managed to convince Mrs. Hudson not to hire someone to fix the ceiling light in the hall; informing her that I'd find someone reliable to do it and texted Mycroft for the favor. I'd also been avoiding the texts and calls from my brothers, who had someone found a small article on me in the paper after I'd walked out with Sherlock and John for the trial that first day. I simply informed them it was an extra credit project my professor set up, I was in no danger and was working with police professionals, and that my trip was nearly over with anyway, so stay off my back. For two people who couldn't even show up properly for Christmas, they sure did care when I was briefly mentioned in a two paragraph article.

Currently though, I had a bigger problem. Namely attempting to keep my mouth shut as Sherlock criminalized himself over kidnapped children and wondering what Moriarty meant when he said he'd be seeing me again. _It's too much stress. I'm going through almost two packs of cigarettes a week, have to take sleeping draughts every other day. I need to stick by Sherlock and John for now. I can't change anything here except try to convince Sherlock to stay away from the kids after we find them. If he doesn't walk in there and have them panic, then Donovan won't have an excuse to arrest him. There will be no proof. Then John can lead him to Kitty and 'Jim' and everything will still be on track aside from Sherlock being blamed for the kidnapping. But that's it. That's_ literally _it. If I do anything else, everything will be ruined. So I need to stay sharp and keep my mouth shut. I just hope things will work out._ We got out of the car upon showing up at the school and Lestrade pointed out a woman in a shock blanket.

"Miss Mackenzie, house mistress." He explained. "Go easy."

Sherlock went to head for the woman, but I grabbed his sleeve.

"Don't."

He frowned at me, but I tugged him towards the door.

"The doors and windows were locked as they should have been and she didn't see anyone go into their room, including herself. No need for you to traumatize some already frantic woman."

"Who said I would traumatize her?" He argued and I raised a brow, making him sigh. "Very well."

Sherlock pushed open a door with frosted glass—making note of it, I'm sure—and began searching the children's room.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you." John commented. "You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

Lestrade nodded. "They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside some place."

Sherlock picked up a lacrosse stick and dropped it before moving to a trunk. He picked up the envelope with Grimm's fairy tales inside and dropped it much like he had the lacrosse stick before standing.

"Show me where the brother slept." He demanded as I went to where he was and stopped the lid from being closed.

He gave me a look, but I simply reached in and scooped up the book he'd dismissed, handing it to him.

"Hang onto it."

He frowned and walked off, leaving it with me instead of holding it himself and I rolled my eyes. Donovan stopped me though, before I could follow him.

"Who are you? You some kid he picked up?"

I bristled slightly at the word 'kid', but shrugged. "Sort of. He caught me being clever and hung on. I don't mind."

She scoffed. "He just blew you off and you don't mind?"

I glanced at her. "He _didn't_ blow me off. It might have looked that way, but I knew him better than most people. He's focused on trying to solve this case as quickly as he can. To find those kids as quickly as he can. He can't focus on minor bits, until they prove useful. He didn't walk away from me. He told me to hang onto it for him, because he's busy."

"You're as weird as him."

"Says the woman scrubbing Anderson's floor while his wife's away." I said, harsher than I wanted to as I walked off; not bothering to look at her furious expression. "You could be just as good as him, if you stopped insulting him and actually worked for it."

We entered the room where Sherlock was standing; myself leaning against the door frame as Donovan pushed past and joined Lestrade.

"The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He'd recognize every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door." Sherlock rambled.

"Okay, so…"

I closed the door a bit and stood outside with my hand raised like a weapon as Sherlock continued.

"So someone approaches the door who he _doesn't_ recognize, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon." He mused as I walked back in. "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out? This little boy. This particular little boy who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John offered as Sherlock started to sniff.

"The bed, Sherlock." I piped in and he dove under the bed to find the linseed oil bottle.

"Get Anderson." He said sternly and Donovan hurried off; though I didn't appreciate the look she sent me.

 _Note to self: Be more cautious of hints with Donovan and Lestrade around. I don't want to be the one arrested for knowing too much._ Anderson soon showed up with a UV lamp and the shutters to the room were closed so Sherlock could reveal the writing on the wall.

 _Help us._

"Linseed oil."

"Not much—"

I stomped on Anderson's foot, shutting him up.

"Thank you, Sam." Sherlock said, shining the light on the ground. "The floor."

"He made a trail for us!" John exclaimed.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them." Sherlock mused as John caught on.

"On, what, tiptoe?"

"Indicates anxiety. A gun held to his head." Sherlock explained quickly as he followed the trail out the door and into the hall. "The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

The trail stopped then and Anderson spoke up.

"That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here."

"I suggest you stop there, or I'll stomp on your foot again." I threatened boredly and he flinched as Sherlock smirked.

"We know his shoe size, his height, his gait and his walking pace. We're a step closer than we were before." Sherlock mused, allowing light into the hall and going to pry a piece of the glowing floorboard of a footprint with a chuckle.

"Having fun?" John asked, kneeling beside him.

"Starting to."

"Maybe don't do the smiling." John commented. "Kidnapped children?"

Sherlock glanced at him before looking at me. "What's the importance of the book?"

I blinked, having not expected him to call on me. "Oh, um, less the book, more of what's in it."

Sherlock frowned. "I don't like riddles."

I resisted the urge to say 'learn to' as Moriarty had a few months ago, and turned to John.

"You got one too."

"Hm? One what?" He asked.

I waved the book at him. "A package. At Baker Street this morning."

"Oh!" He said, digging into his pockets and pulling out the crumpled envelope. "I forgot."

Sherlock stood, snatching it from him and scowling as he pulled out a handful of bread crumbs. "Crumbs?"

"Think a little." I mused, looking out the window with a small frown. "You'll understand when you look at what was on the kidnapper's shoe."

Sherlock came up beside me and ruffled my hair, making me turn to him with a scowl. "Excellent." He mused, practically bouncing off to head to Bart's.

Neither of us noticed the figure who'd been listening in from the doorway of the boy's room.

* * *

Sherlock looked intensely at the chemicals in front of him as he tried to analyze where the kidnapper had been. Sam was in the back of his mind though, driving him mad as he wondered what she was up to. She had been giving away far too much too easily. She was pushing things along at a break-neck pace and he only feared she was attempting to do something that would disrupt Moriarty's plan. He had already informed John to keep an eye on her, not taking a chance of Moriarty grabbing her should she wander from his side. He had vowed to keep her safe from him after she'd been taken, and he wouldn't let his promise falter now. Problem was, he didn't know her next move. Shocking, for the Sherlock Holmes to not be able to predict something as simple as a college student's schedule, but in this case she knew more than he did. She knew everything that was going to happen and how to prepare for it while he was stuck trailing just a step behind. And that was dangerous, for the both of them. That's the kind of man Moriarty was. _Dangerous_.

"I… owe… you." He muttered as he looked over the final sample on the computer. "Glycerol molecule. What _are_ you?"

He turned back to his microscope, as if that would give him the answer, before Molly beside him spoke up; reminding him of her presence.

"What did you mean, 'I owe you'?"

"Nothing. Mental note." He said bluntly, and Molly turned to him.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead." She closed her eyes at what she'd blurted out. "No, sorry."

"Molly, _please_ don't feel the need to make conversation." Sherlock said, ready to tack on something more, only to pause as he remembered the warning Sam gave him back during Christmas. "I… I'm trying to concentrate."

Molly looked a little glad that he hadn't prodded fun at her, for whatever reason, but continued with what she had been trying to say. "When he was… dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly." Sherlock grumbled, keeping the bite from his tone.

" _You_ look sad…" She finished, looking towards John and Sam who were across the room skimming papers. "…when you think they can't see you."

Sherlock finally turned to Molly as she questioned him.

"Are you okay?"

He went to answer, but she cut him off before he could.

"And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

"But _you_ can see me." Sherlock argued, trying to figure out the meek woman in front of him, who he'd passed off as nothing for so long.

"I don't count." She said with a bitter smile. "What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have _me._ " She flinched away in embarrassment. "No, I just mean… I mean, if there's anything you need…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "It's fine."

Sherlock wasn't sure what to do, wishing that Sam had given him a hint for this problem. "W-W-What could I need from you?"

"Nothing." She said, before shrugging. "I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually."

"…Thank you." Sherlock said, a bit confused as to why she wanted him to thank her, and she walked past him.

"I'm just going to get some crisps. Do you want anything?" She again cut him off before he could respond. "It's okay. I know you don't."

"Well, actually, maybe I'll—" He attempted, but she pressed on.

"I know you don't."

"Molly?" Sam called out, making the woman pause. "Are you going out?"

She hesitantly nodded. "For some crisps, yeah. Do you want anything?"

"A soda? A-And another pack of cigarettes, if you could. I'll pay!"

Molly smiled, shaking her head. "It's fine. I got it."

She hurried out then and Sherlock watched her go, before Sam sighed and turned to Sherlock.

"You really should give her more credit. She'll save your life one day."

Sherlock glanced at Sam, before almost shamefully turning away, just as she said something.

"Chocolate."

He frowned. "What?"

"It's a sugar molecule." She said, making Sherlock's eyes widen. "The book, the bread crumbs—"

"Hansel and Gretel." Sherlock breathed out as John headed over, getting wind of the excitement.

"What's that?" John asked.

"Two children led into the forest by a wicked father, follow a little trail of breadcrumbs."

"That's 'Hansel and Gretel'. What sort of kidnapped leaves clues?" John questioned.

"The sort that likes to boast. The sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me." Sherlock said rapid-fire. "All fairytales need a good old-fashioned villain. The fifth substance. It's part of the tale. The witch's house."

"What?"

Sam sighed. "It's chocolate, or part of it. We're looking for an old brick chocolate making factory."

"Hurry, we've got to get to the Yard." Sherlock said and they soon showed up with their lead as Lestrade handed them a paper.

"This fax just arrived."

 _Hurry up their dying!_

"What have you got for us?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock quickly passed him the list of molecules he'd found.

"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect."

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation… What the hell is this? Chocolate?"

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory." Sherlock replied.

"We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?"

"No. No, no, no. Too general." Sherlock urged, speaking quickly. "Need something more specific. Chalk. Chalky clay. That's a far thinner band of geology."

"Bricks, Sherlock." Sam piped in and he nodded.

"Building site. Bricks from the 1950s."

"There's _thousands_ of building sites in London." Lestrade groaned.

"I've got people out looking." Sherlock replied curtly.

"So have I."

"Homeless network. Faster than the police." Sherlock smirked as Sam slapped his arm.

"Stop playing who's got better people and figure this out. Remember the specific vegetation."

Sherlock hummed, just as his phone went off and he began searching through the pictures, showing one to John and her.

"Rhododendron ponticum. It matches. Addlestone."

"What?" Lestrade blurted out.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything." Sherlock said, grabbing Sam's hand and rushing out with Lestrade on their heels.

They were quick to reach the factory and Donovan began having them spread out and search, but Sherlock paused as he spotted wrappers on the ground beside a candle.

"This was alight moments ago." He said, calling out. "They're still here!"

Sam passed him a wrapper and Sherlock took it, looking it over.

"Sweet wrappers. What's he been feeding you? Hansel and Gretel." He licked the wrapper and grimaced. "Mercury."

"What?" Lestrade questioned in shock.

"The papers. They're painted with mercury." Sherlock replied as John groaned. "Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate…"

"It was killing them."

"But it's not enough to kill them on its own. Taken in large enough quantities, eventually it _would_ kill them." Sherlock said, frowning. "He didn't need to be there for the execution. Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away. The hungrier they got, the more they ate… the faster they died."

"Sherlock." Sam interjected. "You're missing it."

He made a face. "Missing what?"

"It would have taken more than just this to kill them. Moriarty didn't care whether they died or not. This is bigger than them. It's a game for you, remember? He took them to do something with you. It's all part of a bigger plan and you need to be careful."

Sherlock watched her, seeing the seriousness in her eyes and not liking it one bit. "What's going on, Sam? There's something you haven't been telling me. What are _you_ up to?"

"Just do me a favor. _Promise_ me you'll do this."

"Do what?"

"Promise me, Sherlock." Sam said sharply, glancing at John. "And you make sure he holds to it."

John nodded and Sherlock even bowed his head.

"I promise."

" _Don't_ see those kids."

Now he was confused. "What?"

"Exactly that. Don't interrogate them, don't let them see you. Stay away from them."

"What for?" John asked, but Sam shook her head.

"I can't say, but if you do that, then it will disrupt part of Moriarty's plan. Just know that it will help you and do as I said, because it is the _only_ thing I can change in this mess. So do that for me."

"Over here!" Donovan called out and the group stood, hurrying over as she found the kids.

Sherlock was hesitant, but begrudgingly agreed and did as Sam had instructed. Lestrade was a bit confused about why he didn't want to interview the kids, but he was quick to make up some dribble about Sam teaching him to be better and leaving the traumatized kids alone. The kids haven't spoken anyway, so there wasn't much that Sherlock hoped to gain from them. The group headed out to returned to Baker Street, but Donovan stopped him.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing."

"Thank you." Sherlock replied automatically.

"I'd say it's unbelievable, but that kid—Sam—how did she know to look under the bed?"

Sherlock paused. "She caught light glinting off the bottle." He lied.

"She handed you that book too. Grimm's fairytales."

"She thought it was important. Didn't match with the kids' things."

"Huh." Donovan muttered, eyeing him as he left.

 _You're getting careless, Sam. You can't rush things._ Sherlock mused as John hailed a cab only for him to steal it. He needed silent space to think. About Moriarty and about Sam.

* * *

 _Hello. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot and his tagalong friend. Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain and soon they began to wonder, 'Are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?'. Oh no. But Sir Boast-a-lot's tagalong friend knew this would happen. She knew and made plans to change things, to protect him. So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said 'I don't believe Sir Boast-a-lot's stories. He's just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good. But it's his tagalong friend who's doing the impossible. How did she know so much? She's not even all that clever, but she knew_ exactly _what to do.' And then, even the King began to wonder…_


	18. Chapter 18

An ambulance pulled away from 221 Baker Street not long before Sherlock stormed upstairs, angry that the man who'd saved him from being hit by a bus was shot for protecting him. He ripped off his scarf and coat, moving to his laptop as Sam and John came upstairs in a calmer manner.

"Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn't come here to kill me. They have to keep me alive." He said as John moved to the window cautiously. "I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me…"

"…the others kill them before they can get it." John concluded; Sam flopping onto the couch and pulling out her own laptop.

"All of the attention is focused on me." Sherlock mused, looking at the wi-fi in the area. "There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

"So what have you got that's so important?"

"What do they _think_ you've got?" Sam countered, Sherlock turning to her.

"Where is it?"

"Upper corner of the bookshelf." She said back and Sherlock began to climb up onto the furniture to get up at it, just as Lestrade walked in.

"No, Inspector."

"What?" Lestrade questioned, Sherlock not having turned around to see him as he pulled the spy camera down.

"The answer's no."

"But you haven't heard the question!"

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking." Sherlock said, moving towards him, but Lestrade was frowning.

"Sherlock—"

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan." Sherlock replied quickly, giving Lestrade no room to speak. "Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home…" He tapped Lestrade's forehead. "…there."

"I'm not here for you." Lestrade said then, making everyone in the room pause and Sam lift her head and pull off her headphones in confusion as he turned to her. "Sam, will you come?"

Her eyes went wide. "W-What? Me?"

Lestrade nodded, solemnly. "Just come with me and I'll keep it from your professor, your family, the media, whatever. It's just for a bit. There's no real evidence or anything, but—"

"No." Sherlock said seriously, having spotted Sam's shaking hands; a tell-tale sign that she hadn't seen this coming. "This is Moriarty's next move. He takes Sam from me, the only bit of help I've been getting and then what? Lestrade you remember what happened. Moriarty won't just let her off with that this time. Now get _out_."

Lestrade hesitated, but nodded, leaving the flat as Sherlock called out to John.

"John, get her some tea."

John looked over and winced, heading into the kitchen. "Right. Bit of brandy would help too, I'm assuming."

Sherlock grunted as he went over to Sam, placing a hand on her shoulder and making her look at him.

"You didn't expect this."

She shook her head, still panicking and trying to wrap her head around what had happened.

"What is it then? What's changed?" He urged.

"M-Me." She breathed out. "If I wasn't here, then you would have gone to see those kids."

"Yes, I've been meaning to ask about that. What's so important about the kids?" He asked, curious as John returned and passed her the tea.

"He's traumatized them. With a mask of you or dressed as you or I don't know. If you'd gone to see them though, the girl would have screamed bloody murder. Donovan would have had evidence that it could have been you who did the kidnapping. I stopped that, throwing a wrench in Moriarty's plans, but…"

"You were hinting to me in front of Donovan." Sherlock finished, making her look up in understanding. _She hadn't even realized what she'd been doing._ "She mentioned to me before I got the cab here, about you knowing to look under the boy's bed and picking out the Grimm fairytale book from the trunk. You've been rushing things along, Sam and now you've made a mistake. They'll be deciding."

"Deciding?" John asked, looking between Sam and Sherlock in worry as the man stood.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest her."

"You think?" John snapped.

"Standard procedure."

"Should have gone with him." John murmured. "People will think—"

"We don't care what people think." Sherlock argued.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid or wrong." John countered, thrusting a hand at Sam. "And she's _always_ cared! About you and herself!"

"It just makes _them_ stupid and wrong." Sherlock bit back, making John whip around angrily.

"Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you or Sam are…"

"That we're what?"

"A fraud." He looked at Sam. "Or a kid."

Sherlock sat in his seat with a roll of his eyes. "You're worried they're right."

"Sherlock, shut up." Sam snapped then, some fire brought back as she shoved her feelings aside and forced herself to think around the problem they were dealing with. "You shut the hell up and listen, because John and I will _never_ believe you are fake. Even if the world is thinking that, we won't ever believe it. Do you hear me?"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile a bit. "Loud and clear."

John's phone went off then and Sam stood up from the couch, tugging on a hoodie as John hung up.

"So, still got _some_ friends on the Force. It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs. Every single officer you ever made feel like a git, Sherlock, which is a lot of people."

"Donovan must have spread the word that I'm his next favorite pet. They're hoping he'll snap when they try to take me, and will get the chance to take him too." Sam muttered, double tying her shoelaces before passing her laptop to John. "Keep that safe. Don't care how. I've reset the password, but you know."

John frowned. "What? You're worried about your laptop?"

"John." She said seriously. "I know things. Things I shouldn't know and you lot might have thought I was typing up that stupid paper I have due, but I haven't touched it. I've been looking at every possible way I can do something about this mess and what that action might do to either help stop it or move it along; a good chunk of which is tucked away on that computer. So keep it with you or find a damn good hiding place, because if anyone other than me gets a hold of it, we're in for more trouble than we are now."

Mrs. Hudson showed up then, spotting the tense room. "Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting? Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked 'perishable'. I had to sign for it."

"A burnt gingerbread cookie." Sam said as Mrs. Hudson handed it over and Sherlock caught sight of the seal on the package.

"Funny name. German, like the fairytales." Mrs. Hudson commented as they opened it and pulled out the cookie.

"Burnt to a crisp." Sherlock muttered as voices shouted from downstairs and someone began pounding on the door.

"Police!"

"What does it mean?" John asked as Mrs. Hudson went to answer the door.

"He said he was going to burn Sherlock." Sam answered. "It's just a message, is all, and I'm out of time."

"Are you going to run?" Sherlock asked and Sam snorted.

"Underground? In the homeless network or in the sewers? Please. That's what he wants. He wants to see me run."

John headed downstairs to try and hold up the police, but Sam looked at Sherlock.

"Your brothers won't be pleased."

Sam chuckled, managing a grin. "Honestly? I don't care. Call it payback for not showing up to Christmas."

Shouts came from downstairs and Sherlock smiled at Sam.

"Good luck."

"I don't need luck. I've got Sherlock Holmes."

Lestrade, Donovan and an officer came upstairs, demanding that Sam place her hands on her head and she did so before she was being handcuffed; Lestrade reading her rights.

"Sam Foxe, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping."

"She's not resisting." John cut in as Sherlock calmed him.

"It's alright, John."

"She's not resisting. No. It's _not_ alright. This is ridiculous." John snapped. "She's hardly been involved at all!"

"Lestrade." Sam cut in before he could demand that she get sent downstairs. "One more minute, yeah?"

Lestrade hesitated, but allowed it, pointing at John and Sherlock. "Don't try to interfere, either of you, or I shall arrest you too. Donovan, stay here and make sure she's brought down. _One minute only_."

Lestrade headed out and Sherlock raised a brow at Sam's grin; a silent 'what are you up to?' drifting between them.

"Oh, I said it." Donovan smirked, looking smug as John bristled. "First time we met."

"Don't bother." John snapped.

"'Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line'." She quoted herself. "Except he got her to do his dirty business. Now ask yourself. What sort of person would kidnap those kids just so they can impress _him_ by finding them?"

Mrs. Hudson gasped at her audacity, before the Chief superintendent strolled in, glancing around.

"Donovan."

"Sir." She said stiffly as he locked eyes with Sam.

"This our man?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Though, it's a woman." Donovan said hesitantly as the Chief locked eyes with Sam, scowling.

"Looks a bit of a _weirdo_ , if you ask me." He scoffed as John looked at him furiously. "Often are, these vigilante types. Especially the reckless young ones who think they can get away with anything."

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulder as the Chief turned to see his angry face.

"What are you looking at?" He asked, but Sam spoke up.

"Possibly your face as he wonders what could have birthed your ugly mug."

" _What_ did you say?" The Chief asked, whipping around to her angrily as Sherlock realized what she was doing as she looked him over.

"I mean, really. You must have pulled some strings to get to where you are. Overweight, have been for years. Couldn't keep up with the intense exercise of the police force, but were determined to stay in it and get to the top to run your own little empire. Settled for getting into the pockets of the politicians and higher ups. Sent the younger, fitter people to do your work, but always took credit for it. Still guilty though, judging by the smoking habit and gambling too, it looks like. Wife left you ages ago, for your pompous attitude. Made you bitter, didn't it? So now you take it out on any loose end you can get your hands on. Just cause you're the chief of police doesn't mean you can get away with being an ass. So, sorry." She smirked. " _Not_ sorry."

The chief was hit hard between the legs, falling to his knees before Sam head-butt him and knocked him out cold. The people in the room looked at her in shock as she huffed.

"God, I've been waiting ages to do that."

"S-Sam?" John breathed out, suddenly seeing this new side of Sam putting him in a bit of shock.

Sherlock though, grinned; having always known that her little rebellious streak would come out sooner or later with the right motivation.

"Oh, almost forgot." Sam said idly, lowering her arms as best she could and jumping through them so her handcuffs were in front of her. "Donovan? I tried to be nice, but I'm just so _tired_ of you."

Donovan was pulled out of her shock upon being addressed and went forward to restrain Sam, only to end up with a face full of fist and a busted nose. Sam hissed, swinging her bruising hand before grinning at Sherlock.

"I'll see you at Kitty's?"

Sherlock nodded and Sam rushed out of the room, leaving John there in confusion as Donovan struggled to try and go after her.

"W-What just happened?"

* * *

I dove behind a wall in the alleyway, panting and out of breath with a bleeding cut across my cheek from a nasty fence I had to hop. _D-Damn. I really should have thought this through better._ I looked around and spotted a man hole, grimacing, but seeing no other option when a car stopped at the exit of my little hideaway. I didn't have time to put bags on my shoes like before and slipped down into the sludge of the sewer with a curse. I pulled out my phone and used the light; grimacing when I saw my battery was dying as well. _Not good. I need the light down here or I'll get lost._ My hand throbbed from where I'd hit Donovan though, almost egging me on. I'd been piling on the stress for days and letting it out on her and the Chief of police was perfect for my rattled nerves. A bit out of character for me, but if it was my brothers who had saw, they wouldn't think so. I could be quite the rebellious punk when I wanted to be. Something Sherlock didn't know, was that I'd gone to jail before. _Though it was for defacing public property and disturbing the peace, not for assaulting_ two _officers._

I slipped then, cursing as my phone fell from my hand and everything went dark; my hand landing in a squishy pile of _something_. I groaned, searching for a second and finding my phone; wiping it off as best I could before finding the nearest exit out. I couldn't waste all the battery down here. It had the map to Kitty's place, after all. So I poked my head out, thankful that I hadn't popped out in the middle of the street, and I snuck through the allies to Kitty's home. My phone died partway there, but I'd glanced at the directions often enough to get there. It was breaking in that was the hard part. _Padlocks are easier_. I mentally grumbled, nearly jumping out of my skin when a pale hand slipped into view and I pulled out a pocket knife; aiming it at the person's throat.

"Excellent reflexes, Sam. Though I would prefer it if you didn't use them on my person."

I let out a shaky sigh, putting the knife away as Sherlock picked the lock. "D-Dammit, Sherlock. Don't scare me like that. And how the hell did you get here so quick?"

"Cab." He replied as the door easily clicked open under his nimble fingers. "Got dropped off a bit away from here and then snuck over to ensure no one followed us to find you."

He went in with me following and John behind, making a face.

"God, what is that _smell_?"

"Well, _you_ try walking through the sewers at night." I snipped hotly, grumbling under my breath as Sherlock picked the next lock. "And I slipped, dropping my phone." I held up said item that was still dripping with sewer mess. "Barely got here when the battery tried to die on me. Probably best though. My brothers will be texting like mad when they see the news."

We walked into her flat and Sherlock flicked on the light and moved into the kitchen before passing me a grocery bag.

"Hoodie."

I pouted, pulling off the ruined hoodie and slipping it into the bag so he could tie it off and trash it. "That's my favorite one too."

He rolled his eyes. "It's your _only_ one. Phone too."

I passed that to him and winced when he easily snapped it in half and tossed it in the bag; dropping both out the side window onto the bins outside.

"John, get the lights. Let's wait for Miss _Kitty_ to return home."

The lights were flicked off and Sherlock and I took the couch as John leaned against a desk next to us. We were only waiting a few moments before we heard a car pull up outside and Kitty hesitantly entered after seeing the door purposely cracked open.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock quipped, before lifting my cuffed wrists. "And do you have a hairpin?"

She didn't seem too alarmed, moving to sit down on the couch opposite of Sherlock and I before pulling a hair pin from her purse. Sherlock went to work on my cuffs for me as he spoke.

"Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes." He commented, unlocking one of my hands and making me attempt to unlock the other so he could get up and pace. "The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. bravo."

"I gave you your opportunity. I am on your side, remember?" She said, making me look up in surprise.

 _He listened?_

"Yes, well not everything in that article is what I told you." Sherlock commented. "Someone turned up and helped you out. How _utterly_ convenient. Who is Brook?"

Kitty shook her head, but I decided to respond.

"Moriarty."

Everyone in the room turned to me.

"Richard Brook. Reichenbach Falls. It's a joke."

Sherlock groaned. "Oh, it's _always_ a joke to him."

"But what's a joke to him, is very real to us, Sherlock." I countered, looking at him seriously as he frowned; glancing up when he heard someone coming and Kitty stood.

Jim Moriarty himself walked through the door with a bag of groceries.

"Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee, so I just got normal…" Jim trailed off as he saw who was in the room.

Sherlock did very much the same and took a step towards Jim, who dropped the bags and stumbled backwards in apparent fear.

"You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here." He accused Kitty.

"You _are_ safe, Richard. I'm a witness. They wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

"I would." I argued, ignoring how _Richard_ flinched. "I'm a fugitive, after all. Hitting one more person won't change the fact that I assaulted two police officers. So don't _tempt_ me, Moriarty."

John cut in then, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. "So _that's_ your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!"

"Of _course_ he's Richard Brook. There _is_ no Moriarty. There never _has_ been." Kitty pressed as John tried to hold back his anger and I continued to struggle with the cuff on my wrist.

 _Lock picking was never my strong suit._

"What are you talking about?" John hissed, though Sherlock remained silent.

"Look him up. Rich Brook. An Actor Sherlock Holmes _hired_ to be Moriarty." Kitty explained. "That's the story the public wants, so that's what I'll give them. Sorry, Sherlock."

It clicked then for me. _Ah, he did listen. He listened, gave her dirt, played nice, but it wasn't as juicy as this. She doesn't entirely believe Moriarty's gimmick, but needs the story. She's desperate and his is simply better than Sherlock's._ I mentally scoffed. _Journalists._

"Doctor Watson. I know you're a good man." Jim said, trying to appease the slowly angering man. "D-Don't… Don't hurt me."

"No, _you're_ Moriarty!" John shouted, glancing back at Kitty. " _He's_ Moriarty! We've met, remember?! You were going to blow me up! You _shot_ Sam!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Jim apologized, gesturing to Sherlock. "He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. He assured me she wasn't supposed to get hurt. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry, okay?"

John turned to Sherlock, panting in his anger. "Sherlock, you'd better explain, because I am not getting this."

"Oh, I'll be doing the explaining. In print." Kitty said, passing him a folder. "It's all here. Proof."

 _Not conclusive, I noticed._ I mused, spotting all the subtle differences that shouldn't have happened but did because of my interferences.

Kitty turned to Sherlock. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" John questioned, upset.

"Mhmm. Invented all the crimes, actually." Kitty explained. "And to cap it all, you made up a master villain and had your little tagalong Sam there set it all up as an act to impress you."

I bit back a snide retort, uncomfortable with Moriarty in the room and knowing that nothing I said now would change anything. I _did_ , however, notice Sherlock grow tense at her words. _Did I miss something?_

"Don't be ridiculous!" John argued and Kitty pointed at Jim.

"Ask him. He's right here. Just ask him. Tell him, Richard."

"Look, for God's sake, this man was on _trial_!"

"Yes." Kitty again pointed at Sherlock. "And you paid him. Paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good." She went over to join Jim. "But not so good he didn't want to see his story."

She shared a meaningful glance with Sherlock, as I gave up on taking off the last cuff; trying to had only chaffed my wrist further.

"I _am_ sorry." Jim apologized. "I am. I am sorry."

"S-So this is the story you're going to publish?" John questioned. "The big conclusion of it all. Moriarty's an actor?!"

"He _knows_ I am." Jim said. "I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!"

"Yeah, _show_ me something." John snapped and Kitty pulled more information from her purse as I looked at Jim.

His eyes locked with mine, smirking like the villain Sherlock, John and I knew, but switched back to his Richard persona as Kitty pulled out a folder.

"I'm on TV. I'm on kids' TV. I'm the Storyteller." He explained as Kitty showed him articles on Richard Brook. "I-I'm the Storyteller. It's on DVD. Just tell him." Jim urged Sherlock and I. "It's all coming out now. It's all over. Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him! It's all over. No! No!" He suddenly shouted as Sherlock took a menacing step towards him and Jim cowered back onto the stairs. "Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!"

"Stop it." Sherlock snarled. "Stop it now!"

Jim bolted upstairs and Sherlock and John chased after him, but he escaped out the bathroom window.

"No, no, no. He'll have backup." Sherlock said, moving back down the stairs as Kitty moved out of his way.

 _Another thing that's changed._ I was beginning to get a headache with everything that was going wrong and I only hoped that it wouldn't get much worse than this. _Small changes are fine, but if I changed the ending somehow. If Sherlock_ actually _dies, then… then I don't know what I'd do._

"Sam!" Sherlock snapped, startling me out of it as he was already out the door and I hurried after him.

"Can he do that?" John was asking Sherlock as the man paced in the middle of the road. "Completely change his identity? Make you the criminal?"

"Yes." I said bluntly, mentally wincing when John almost seemed to glare at me.

"He's got my whole life story." Sherlock explained. "That's what you do when you sell a big lie. You wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable. I gave Kitty some of it, but that article was too detailed."

"Your word against his." John concluded.

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to…" Sherlock stopped suddenly then and John looked at him in concern.

"Sherlock?"

"Something I need to do." Sherlock said then.

"What? Can I help?" John offered.

"No. On my own." Sherlock glanced at me then. "You'll be fine for the night, I assume?"

I nodded. "I'll figure something out."

"Here." Sherlock handed me some money and a paper with something scrawled on it that I couldn't see in the dark. "Go to the restaurant three blocks from our flat. Someone will be waiting there. They'll help you if you hand them this."

I bobbed my head, but looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

His icy blue eyes locked with mine and a small smile flickered onto his face. "No need. You've done more than enough already."

He did something surprising then, kissing my forehead before turning away.

"Good luck, Sam."

 _D-Dammit. I should be saying that to you._


	19. Chapter 19

**Parts of this chapter inspired by ' _A Monstrous Regiment of Woman_ ' by Laurie R. King (2nd in the Mary Russell series, which I highly recommend).**

* * *

 _Is this it? This is the restaurant he was talking about, right?_ I mentally questioned, shivering in the cold of the alleyway and searching for the person I was supposed to meet with. _God damn, it's cold. I miss my hoodie._ I caught a whiff of myself and grimaced. _And I still smell, so it's not like it changed much._ I fidgeted, and then spotted someone walking towards the restaurant. I hesitated, not wanting to be wrong, but when the person looked around and then snuck into the alleyway beside it, I took a chance. I bolted from my place across the road and hurried over to the slim figure wearing haggard clothing. _Homeless network. Clever, Sherlock._ Once hidden in the shadows again, I approached them.

"You're Sherlock's homeless network, yeah? He sent you here for me. Look." I held out the paper and watched as the figure took it without saying a word; their face covered by the shadow of their baseball cap that looked vaguely familiar. "He says you can help me for the night. I was just hoping for a coat, if anything. I've already got a place in mind that I can use to… lay low…"

It was then that I recognized the cap. Dark with 'London' stamped across the front of it and a Union Flag on one side; red lining the brim. My heart leapt up into my throat as a grin came over the man's face as that sickly sweet voice entered my ears and sent a chill down my spine.

"No need, Sammy dear. I'll hide you away _easily_." Moriarty smirked, dropping the paper as I made to bolt.

I was grabbed though, but the remaining handcuff on my wrist twisted painfully around and I was slammed up against a wall with strength I didn't expect from the man who never got his hands dirty.

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't want me doing something dangerous to our boy Sherlock, now would you?" He murmured into my ear as I grit my teeth; hearing him lock the other cuff over my wrist behind my back. "All it would take is one word. I can speed up my plan in an instant, Sammy, and that's one thing I _know_ you can't predict."

I closed my eyes begrudgingly, bowing my head slightly and knowing I was beaten. _I have no choice. I have to do as he says. I can't have Sherlock in danger. No matter what._

"That's a good girl. Now, how about we change locations. I've got the perfect thing for you."

* * *

Sherlock sat on the floor in Molly's lab, bouncing a rubber ball against the cabinet in front of him as John walked into the room.

"Got your message."

"The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it. Beat Moriarty at his own game." Sherlock replied.

"What do you mean, 'use it'?"

"He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook."

Or so he said, but something was bothering Sherlock.

"And bring back Jim Moriarty again." John concluded as Sherlock stood.

"Somewhere in 221B, somewhere. On the day of the verdict, he left it hidden." Sherlock turned and leaned on the table in front of him as John hummed.

 _I'm missing something. Something important._

"What did he touch?" John asked, hoping that would help Sherlock figure out where Moriarty left the code.

"An apple. Nothing else." Sherlock muttered, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Did he write anything down?"

"No."

 _Where? Did Sam mention it?_

" _You're missing it."_

Sherlock frowned at the voice in his head, repeating her earlier words to him.

" _It's a game for you, remember...?"_

"… _It's all part of a bigger plan and you need to be careful."_

He shook his head. _No, I need something about the code. The code Moriarty had._

" _It's a joke."_

He frowned, dwelling on that for some reason before a noise interrupted his thoughts. John was tapping on the table. A similar tapping that Moriarty had been doing back at Baker Street. One that Sherlock easily switched into binary code, yet it still felt wrong somehow. He was missing something staring him right in the face and the one person who should have been giving him hints about it wasn't around. He needed to get Moriarty's attention though, pushing Sam aside for the moment and stealthily pulling out his phone and sending the man a text.

 _Come and play._

 _Bart's Hospital rooftop._

 _SH_

 _PS. Got something_

 _Of yours you might_

 _Want back._

Hours passed as Sherlock tried to figure out what it was he was missing, glancing at the pocket watch Sam had given him every so often as he wondered whether she'd slept at all that night. John was out cold at a table nearby, but Sherlock hardly noticed as he ran his fingers back and forth over the rubber ball he had on the table; not even flinching when a phone ringing cut the silence and woke John up.

"Yes, speaking." John grumbled, listening before getting to his feet in shock. "Uh, what? What happened? Is she okay?"

Sherlock straightened a bit, listening in and trying in vain to make his stomach stop twisting in fear.

"Oh my God. Right. Yes, I'm coming." John finished, hanging up.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson. She's been shot." John breathed out and a part of Sherlock relaxed, though he still played the act of someone concerned.

"What? How?"

"Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract. Jesus. _Jesus_." John breathed out. "She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go."

John hurried to the door, but Sherlock didn't move, looking away.

"You go. I'm busy grab Sam, if you find her. She should have shown up by now." He checked his watch again.

"Busy?" John gaped.

"Thinking. I need to think."

"You need to—Doesn't she mean _anything_ to you?" John questioned him heatedly. "You once half-killed a man because he threatened to hurt her and got a hold of Sam instead."

"She's my landlady." Sherlock shrugged, wishing Sam was around to be the buffer between them.

If she knew everything, she'd be trying to urge the man out the door too.

"She's _dying_." John emphasized, but Sherlock still didn't react. "You _machine_. Sod this. Sod this." John moved back to the door. "You stay here if you want, on your own."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." Sherlock recited.

"Nope. _Friends_ protect people." John snapped, storming out.

* * *

"Why did you take me? I thought you were out to burn Sherlock?" I asked, scared out of my mind, but reacting far better than I expected, having been taken by Moriarty a second time.

 _Although, I think I'm just panicking. Shoving everything aside to be dealt with later when I'm not in such a tense situation where every action could cost me my life._

"Of course, dear, but you were listening, weren't you?" Moriarty smirked as I twisted on the ground of a darkened room, making my handcuffs clatter. "There's only one way to burn the heart out of a man like him."

"'Every person had their pressure point'." I quoted, frowning. "'Someone they want to protect from harm. Easy- _peasy_.'" I mocked him and he chuckled.

"So you _were_ listening. Clever girl." He mused, messing with something on a table just out of my view.

I considered attacking him, but couldn't get the strength to. I _was_ struggling with flashbacks of being tied in that chair, and I swore I could see Sebastian Moran standing in the corner should I attempt anything. Whether that was my mind playing tricks on me or not, had yet to be seen.

"So what?" I questioned further, trying to get information on my part in this; the one thing I couldn't predict for the life of me. "You kidnap me from him, drive him mad before doing the Fall?"

"Oh, no, Sammy. He would assume you're safe if I just said I had you locked up somewhere. No, in order to burn the heart out of him, I have to do the same to you."

I didn't dare ask the question on my lips. _How? My brothers?_

A light caught on whatever he was messing with on the table and I stiffened, knowing nothing about it other than it appearing to be metal or glass.

"Don't you want to know how, Sammy? Aren't you curious as to what I've got planned for you in the next dozen hours before the fall?" He asked, not really expecting an answer. "Because I've realized you won't tell me anything about what you know or where you got it from. I've given up on that. And there's no point in making what you say sound false because only Sherlock and John seem to believe you. So you don't have to worry about that either. I've got something far more entertaining in mind. Tell me. What do you know about Sherlock's faults?"

"Faults?"

"His weaknesses, his mistakes, his _heart_. Surely you know?" He hummed and I swore I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, as though someone was coming closer to me in the shadows.

"You mean like John and I? Mrs. Hudson? Mycroft?" I asked, confused.

"There's that, yes. But I meant something more… physical. Something more… _potent_."

He turned and I felt my eyes go wide and my entire body tense in fear at what he held in his hand.

"N-No…"

"Oh, yes, Sammy." He smirked. "But see. I'm not even going to do it." He set the needle on the ground in front of me. " _You_ are."

I looked at him, confused. "W-What? Why would I—"

"Because, if you don't… Well, let's just say I've got more in mind for Sherlock than the Fall." He hummed, watching me as I looked down at the needle. "I could shoot him in the leg, push him off the building. I could bring a camera and live-stream it online. I could snatch John out of thin air and make him fall instead."

"No… No, don't." I breathed out, closing my eyes as I realized what I was going to have to do.

"Let's see then, how far you're willing to burn yourself for Sherlock Holmes." He cackled, picking up the needle and I begrudgingly turned my back to him so he could reach my arm. "You should almost be thanking me, Sammy." He hummed as I let out a single choked sob. "Soon, you won't have a care in the world and I'll reunite you with your favorite detective. I'm sure he'd _love_ to see you safe and well."

Something tightened around my upper arm as tears slipped down my face. A sharp pinch in the crook of my elbow, then everything was gone; leaving me to feel the full effects of the heroin that had just been pumped into my veins.

"Have fun, Sammy~"

* * *

I felt sick; my entire body aching and throbbing as though a thousand knives were being stabbed into my very core. Vomit had been cleaned up from one section of the room I was in, before I'd been dosed up again. I was losing count. _What was I counting?_ I was losing track of my thoughts, track of time. _I wonder if Sherlock would like that pocket watch I saw…_ I could feel a tingling in the back of my mind, like someone screaming for me to focus, but I couldn't grab a hold. It just kept slipping through my fingers. _I don't want to… Can't I just sleep in today, brother?_ I lay on the floor, trying to get some sense of self back into my mind and body, but it took longer than I wished. I finally latched onto a thought and forced myself upright with a groan. Holding down the bile in my throat, I got up and began muttering under my breath to try and help realign my thoughts and remember what I needed to focus on.

"Drugs, drugs, drugs. Heroin, opium, cocaine, speed, ecstasy, pot, cannabis. Euphoria, vomiting, headaches, pain, aches, anxiety, listlessness. One, two, three, _four_. Time, seconds, minutes, hours. Clock, fall. Sherlock, John. _Moriarty._ "

I started to feel better. My mind began connecting thoughts properly again. I remembered why I was here, what had happened, what was _going_ to happen. I fought to hang onto this, knowing that it was going to be a long twelve hours. Twelve hours that I wouldn't forget for the rest of my life. Twelve hours that will _change_ my life as it was. _Sherlock… I need to stay strong. Not just for him, but for me._ Just as I was gaining control, he was back, and the euphoria began again.

* * *

Bliss, then sickness, then pain and confusion, then clarity, before repeating. Minutes felt like days and hours felt like months. I couldn't tell how long I was going between dosages. Hell, I couldn't tell how long it had been since I'd been brought here. I barely managed to push myself up from the bed this time and start walking, hoping that by doing the opposite of what the drug made me want to do, that I would regain myself faster. I didn't know if it was working. Every time I was dosed up, everything reset as though I hadn't even tried. It was… debilitating. I considered stopping at some point, but things started to get worse with the drug after that.

A vague part of me thought he was shortening the time between dosages, though I could never be sure. And the way I was reacting to it had already begun to change. A slim part of me _wanted_ it now. It was better than smoking two packs of cigarettes a week. It made all the accumulated stress instantly vanish. It played visions in front of me as though I was back at home, back when my brothers _cared_. I even laughed at some point at an argument I believed Sherlock and John to be having in front of me at Baker Street. But then it would vanish, my stomach would twist angrily, and everything would grow bleak once more. So why was I so disappointed when Moriarty finally returned, only to smirk and announce.

"Last one, Sammy dear."

* * *

Moriarty sat up on the roof of Bart's, playing 'Stayin' Alive' by The Bee Gees on his phone as he waited; Sam sitting at his feet with a black bag over her head, her fingers twitching anxiously and rattling the cuffs around her red wrists. Sherlock walked out onto the roof not long after Moriarty had sent him the text announcing his arrival, and he flinched upon seeing Sam there, but made no sudden moves.

"Ah, here we are at last." Moriarty hummed. "You, Sam and I, Sherlock, and our problem. The final problem. Staying alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" Moriarty asked, shutting his phone off and holding a hand out parallel to the roof. "It's just… _staying_. All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have _you_. Because I've beaten you. And you know what? In the end it was easy. It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out _you're_ ordinary just like all of them. Even Sammy here wasn't that hard to crack. Ah, well."

Moriarty stood, purposely kicking Sam a bit as he walked around her to approach Sherlock.

"Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get to you?"

"'It was a joke.'" Sherlock said, making Moriarty raise a brow.

"Hm?"

"Richard Brook. Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach. The case that made my name. Sam figured it out."

"Yeah, well, she already knew. That's _cheating_." Moriarty hissed, spotting Sherlock's drumming fingers as he circled the man. "Good, you got that one."

"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one. Every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me. Hidden inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"I told all my clients, last one to Sherlock is a sissy." Moriarty said.

"Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty." Sherlock announced, but paused. "Except it's not that easy, is it?"

"Ooh, this is curious." Moriarty smirked. "Did Sammy give it away?"

"Hardly." Sherlock said bluntly, looking over at Sam and silently wondering what was going on with her.

She'd yet to move, after all, sitting almost patiently if it weren't for her twitching fingers.

"She simply said what I already knew and gave it emphasis. It's a joke. And I replied, 'Oh, it's _always_ a joke to him.' Even this. So what's the secret? Some number you secretly placed in my seat cushion?"

"Number." Sam suddenly spoke up then, speaking slowly and slightly slurred. "One, two, three, four… No, way past four. Four was ages ago. Months, no, seconds. No… hours. Time. Lost track. What time is it?"

Sherlock frowned, looking at Moriarty. "What did you do to her?"

"Well, now, isn't that the question?" Moriarty smirked, walking over to Sam, who stiffened and brought up her hands to blindly defend herself. "Wakey, wakey, Sammy."

He pulled off the black bag over her head and she winced, cringing away from the minute amount of sunlight that burned her constricted pupils even through the clouds. Sherlock's eyes racked over her form, immediately seeing the signs and anger flooded his system. _Constricted pupils, dry mouth, twitching fingers fighting off the need to itch._

"You _drugged_ her." He concluded.

"Actually, she drugged herself. Just to keep you safe. Surprise!" Moriarty grinned, coming over and growing serious. "And there is no key, _doofus_!" He shouted in Sherlock's face; said man resisting the urge to tackle him to the ground after witnessing Sam's state. "Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless. You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock."

"And the rhythm?" Sherlock asked out of curiosity.

"'Partita number one.' Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach." Moriarty replied.

"So how did—"

"Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?" Moriarty finished for him, holding his arms out. "Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants. I knew you'd fall for it. Or would have, if Sammy hadn't intruded. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it. Sammy should be coming out of it soon too. Conscious enough to watch it all happen."

"My suicide." Sherlock concluded, catching on right away.

"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud, coercing young, druggy college student to commit crimes to impress him.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales." Moriarty hummed, coming up beside Sherlock at the edge of the building. "Pretty Grimm ones too."

Sherlock turned to him angrily. "I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity."

"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort." Moriarty drawled. "I'll even watch over Sammy here. Go on. For me? _Please_?"

Sherlock suddenly grabbed the man and held him precariously over the edge, shaking him with the threat of letting go.

"You're insane." Sherlock snapped.

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty quipped and Sherlock shoved him a bit further. "Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

Sherlock hesitated. "John."

"Not just John. _Everyone_."

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Everyone." He whispered again, smirking as Sherlock continued to frown.

"Lestrade."

"Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There's no stopping them now."

"Two." Sam said then, making them pause. "Two, deux, du, ni, dos. I owe Holmes a favor. He's getting the hall light fixed."

Moriarty scowled and Sherlock couldn't help but smirk.

" _Two_ victims."

Moriarty still pressed the issue. "Two _dead_ victims, unless my people see you jump."

Moriarty stepped out of his grasp, letting him dwell on that.

"You can have me arrested. You can torture me. You can do anything you like with me, but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only few friends in the world will die… unless…"

"…unless I kill myself. Complete your story." Sherlock finished.

"You've got to admit, that's sexier." Moriarty grinned. "I even brought Sam by for you."

"And I die in disgrace with her left to watch." Sherlock muttered, spotting Sam beginning to quiver as she held her head in her hands.

"Of course. That's the point of this." Moriarty glanced down. "Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on. I told you how this ends."

Sherlock took a shaky breath, stepping onto the edge and looking down.

"Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. _I'm_ certainly not gonna do it."

Sherlock looked at Moriarty. "Would you give me one moment, please. One moment of privacy? Please."

Moriarty almost sighed. "Of course."

He walked away and Sherlock looked out, before something dawned on him and he chuckled, making Moriarty stop and turn around.

"What? What is it? What did I miss?" He demanded.

"' _You're_ not going to do it.'" Sherlock quoted him. "So the killers _can_ be called off, then. There's a recall code or a word or a number. I don't have to die, if I've got you." Sherlock sang, circling Moriarty now.

"Oh." Moriarty chuckled in return. "You think you can _make_ me stop the order? You think _you_ can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you." Sherlock said seriously.

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

Sherlock didn't care, getting in his face. "Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

Moriarty paused. "Nah, you talk big. Nah, you're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them." Sherlock said seriously, hearing a small groan from Sam, but ignoring it.

"No, you're not." Moriarty gave in, looking him over before closing his eyes and opening them with a smile. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me! _Thank_ you!" Moriarty held out his hand and shook Sherlock's. "Sherlock Holmes and Sam Foxe. Thank you. _Bless_ you."

"…No…" Sam grunted out, but Moriarty continued before Sherlock could turn away.

"As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends, you've got a way out… Well, good luck with that."

He grinned at a stunned Sherlock and pulled a pistol out of his coat, shoving it in his mouth and firing. Sherlock jumped back, staring in utter shock at the corpse now lying on the roof as Sam curled up in a ball and cried.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." She apologized, quaking as the heroin wore off.

Sherlock, though panicked, saw her state and felt something in him creak. A door he'd long ago shut tight that the young woman had managed to pry open. She'd gone through hell for him, then and now, and here she was. Still half drugged, coming down from a high, and begging for his forgiveness as though all of this was her fault. Sherlock knew what he had to do. He knew from the start. He'd hoped it would only end up a last resort, but Moriarty's death had sealed the deal for him. Sherlock Holmes had to die to save his friends, but who was going to save Sam? Who was going to save her from herself?

He slowly went over and knelt down in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders as she sobbed.

"I'm sorry. I-I'm so sorry. I-I wanted to change it. I wanted to."

"It's okay, Sam." He said, but she shook her head.

"I-I should have tried harder. You deserve better. Y-You deserve s-so much better. I messed everything up. T-This is all my fault."

"Look at me. Sam, look at me!" He snapped, lifting her head to face him as he brushed away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. "Sam, none of this is your fault. I don't _ever_ want you to believe that. Moriarty did this. He did the crimes, pulled the trigger, set this up. You… You _saved_ me, Sam. Ever since I met you, all you've done is save me. And it's my turn to save you, because you are the most _brilliant_ young woman I have ever met. So I want you to do me a favor. I want you to work hard until I come back. Work hard and become the best there can be, because I am _proud_ of you and I'm not about to let you give up here. Promise me, that you'll do that. Promise me you'll take care of yourself and show me that you are someone worthy of my respect. Promise me that, Sam."

She nodded. "P-Promise."

Sherlock smiled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment and then tugging her into his arms.

"Then, I'll see you, Sam. My clever Sam."

* * *

"There's all the stuff." Mrs. Hudson murmured softly, her flowers resting in front of the headstone carved with Sherlock's name; John at her side. "All the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it so a school. Would you…?"

"I can't go back to the flat again. Not at the moment." John said and she took his arm sadly. "I'm angry."

"It's okay, John. There's nothing unusual in that." Mrs. Hudson comforted him as he tried to hold back the emotions. "That's the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on my table and the _noise_. Firing guns at half past one in the morning!"

"Yeah." John said softly.

"Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine. Keeping bodies where there's food!"

"Yes."

"And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!" She half cried. "Oh, but Sam was so good for him. She helped him so much and I don't have the slightest what she did. Have you seen her at all, dear?"

"No." John said sharply, a bit of bite to his tone. "She was gone with all her stuff after what happened."

"Oh… Poor dear. She must have had it so hard." Mrs. Hudson sighed, patting his arm and letting him go. "I'll leave you alone to, um… you know."

She began to cry as she walked away to give John some privacy. He made sure she was gone, before he turned to the stone and spoke; having a hard time.

"Um… mm… You… You told me once." He cleared his throat. "That you weren't a hero. Um…" He took a deep breath, trying to hold everything back. "There were times I didn't even think you were human, but… let me tell you this. You were… the best man and the most human… human being." Another breath, stuttering. "That I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. Yeah, so… there."

John looked back, being sure there still was no one around, before he leaned forward and place a hand on the stone.

"I was… so alone… and I owe you so much." He started to walk away, but doubled back. "But please, there's just one more thing. Okay. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock." He closed his eyes briefly. "For me. Don't… be… _dead._ "

His voice had cracked on that last bit, and he had to try and compose himself once more; failing as he breathed out the last bit.

"Would you do that? Just for me? Just stop it. Stop this."

John took a deep breath, but couldn't hold it back any longer, sucking in a sob and wiping at his eyes. He held it back though, giving one final nod with a straight face, before making to leave. It was then that he heard footsteps and spotted someone coming out from behind one of the trees nearby. His heart swelled, hoping it was a miracle answered, but the slim figure in a coat wasn't Sherlock.

"S-Sam?" He questioned, holding back his anger for the moment as he took in how haggard she looked. "What… What are you doing here?"

"I-I, um…" She looked down at the flowers in her hands and then back up at him. "My school they… Bobby and my professor chipped in to let me stay until the funeral."

"What about the charges?"

"Dropped." She croaked out, licking her slightly blue lips. "I-I think Mycroft managed to make it look like a-a prank or something. My brothers aren't pleased, b-but my school let me off."

John though, was more concerned about something else, watching as she set down the flowers beside Mrs. Hudson's.

"Sam, what happened up there? You were there, weren't you? You knew this was going to happen, right? So why didn't you—"

"There was nothing I could have done." She cut him off, angering him as he stormed towards her.

"The _hell_ there was!" He shouted, grabbing the front of her shirt, startling her. "You've known about this for ages, Sam! You _proved_ that to us! So how the hell can you stand here and tell me there was nothing you could have done?!"

"E-Everything has to go as it should, o-or the plot would be messed up and—"

"Oh, it's a plot now?" John snapped furiously. "Is that all we are to you, Sam? Characters in some stupid book being played out for your amusement? Hell, for all I know, Kitty was right! You and Moriarty have been working together from day one! Don't know _how_ you managed to convince us before, but you sure aren't about to fool me now."

John reached down and scooped up her flowers, shoving them back into her arms roughly.

"So you best get out of here before I call the cops."

"B-But, John, I—" She grimaced. "I-I couldn't have done anything. By the time I c-could even move, Moriarty had already—"

"I don't _care_!" He shouted. "Sherlock seemed to think you were so damn clever, so why is it that you're perfectly fine saving a maniac like Irene or Frankland, but the moment your friend is in trouble you just turn away and say there's nothing you can do?! You were supposed to save him! You were supposed to save the idiot you love, but you didn't! You watched him die! You put him there! This is all _your_ fault! All of it is just—It's just—Ah!"

John furiously punched her, knocking her to the ground, and allowing his anger to finally come over him at everything that had just happened. He stood, hovering over her as he tried to regain some control to prevent him from assaulting her further in his fury.

"Y-You— _You_ did this to him." He snarled at her. "I don't know what the hell he saw in you. You _betrayed_ us, Sam. You _killed_ Sherlock Holmes and I'm never going to forgive you for that."

He turned and stormed off, leaving Sam on the ground as she pushed herself up onto her knees.

"I-I… I suppose I should have expected t-this." She stuttered out to seemingly no one, letting out a pained whimper as she hauled herself to her knees. "Y-You should see him l-later. He really shouldn't… bottle it up so _much_."

Her voice cracked as she faltered trying to stand, having to grab onto Sherlock's gravestone to keep from landing in the grass again. Her body quivered, not from John's hit, but the after effects of the drug she'd been trying to deal with on her own the last few days. It took her a few minutes to grow steady on her feet again, but she managed and picked up the flowers John had shoved back at her. She straightened them out as best she could before replacing them in front of his grave with a broken chuckle.

"A-And to think… I did this all for you. My brothers are going to kill me if they find out, but they won't. Bobbie, I think knows, but I-I'll need to take some time off of school until I'm better. I barely made it here." She looked down at the stone, placing a hand over the top much as John had before. "Moriarty was right about one thing though… I _would_ burn my heart for you."

Her hand slipped from the stone and she turned towards a tree briefly, before stumbling away as a figure stepped out from behind it; watching her go and wishing he could have done so much more for her. Sam Foxe; the young woman who lost it all trying to save Sherlock Holmes.


	20. Chapter 20

Shame and hate and fever and dazed, torturous nightmares. That was the first week. Seven days, bedridden, delusional, ill until my stomach practically tore itself inside out. I hated everyone and everything. The hum of the air conditioner infuriated me, for no reason other than it never felt as though it was doing its job. John made me angry for hitting me back at Sherlock's funeral. Sherlock made me mad for jumping in the first place. Moriarty infuriated me for making me choose between being drugged and saving Sherlock. My brothers were immediately hated for never being around. I was just all around angry, but mostly at myself.

I wanted more. The thought of the drug made my heart race but also filled me with shame. I actually went out and found a dealer and bought some, but I couldn't use it. I hid it away and curled up with my cat, staring at where I put it for hours. Halfway through the week though, someone noticed. Bobbie. The annoying friend I didn't want was the only one who saw that something wasn't right. He came for me and, though I was more than sick and irritable at the time, he took care of me. He threw out the drug upon finding it, nursed me back to health and fought to convince me that I needed to return to school. He saved me when even my brothers didn't notice. He pushed me to the edge numerous times, but never once gave up on me. I owed him my life.

For the next two years, I finished my schooling and got my degree in Criminology before getting a PI's license. It was slow going. Missing pets, cheating husbands, lost stuffed toys. The prices were up for negotiation—the most I got was two hundred dollars and the least, a piece of chocolate—so I had a job as waiter on the side to keep myself afloat. Bobbie helped and we dated happily for a year or so, until I got my first big case: tracking down the man who killed him during a convenience store robbery.

I hadn't known what to do. His parents blamed me, thinking it had something to do with my job. _I_ blamed myself, for complaining how I desperately needed a pack of licorice; something I used to keep me from smoking while stressed. And when I got the news, I knew it would take me all of twenty minutes to go track down a dealer and get what I wanted. But I couldn't. I needed to focus. I took the case. A distraction to keep from losing myself. From giving in after a long year of struggling. I owed him that much, after everything he did for me.

I couldn't stay in New York for much longer after that. While catching the man had put me in the good graces of the police there, I only took another half a dozen cases before selling my place, grabbing my cat, and fleeing to England. My brothers saw me off, surprisingly enough, though it wasn't exactly a happy reunion. A simple 'take care of yourself', 'we're sorry', 'goodbye'. I stayed in a motel the first month or so, before regaining my courage and calling up a familiar number. Mrs. Hudson had missed me and the hustle and bustle of what used to be 221B. I told her of my situation and if she had anyplace I could go, but she said three words to me that I won't ever forget.

" _Come back home."_

And I did. 221B was messier than ever with boxes of Sherlock's things scattered about, but John wasn't returning anytime soon with his new girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife Mary, so I took his room. My cat settled in easily enough; claiming Sherlock's chair as his napping place, and I soon found a decent job and solved some of the crimes on Sherlock's old blog that people were still using on occasion. I cleaned it up a bit too, getting rid of the old messages from when people believed him to be a fake. And then I went straight onto my next task; unpacking his things and putting them back where they belonged, because I missed the memories. I missed _him_. It was all I could do to keep sane anymore. And after a year and a half, I finally broke down into tears, curled up in the middle of Sherlock's bed.

* * *

"… _after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook_ did _indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty…_ " The television chimed; it's viewer ignorantly lounging sprawled across a chair.

"… _amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion…_ "

A black cat lounged asleep in their master's lap.

"… _but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago…_ "

Mrs. Hudson walked upstairs and rapped on the door, only to smile softly at the sight.

" _Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far._ "

The landlady shuffled over to Sam, carefully lifting the woman's reading glasses from her sleeping face and setting them aside; the black cat glancing briefly at her with slow-blinking yellow eyes.

" _Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely he was able to cope with—_ "

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and clicked the television off, draping a blanket over the woman sleeping in Sherlock's chair.

"You poor dear." She murmured. "I don't know how you can stand living in this dreadful place. But then, I suppose, you and him grew close that year."

* * *

John crossed the street to 221B, unlocking the door with his old key and looking at Mrs. Hudson's door. Immediately, he was overcome with the sound of soft violin, remembering his times going up those stairs to see Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson though, walked out and broke him from his reverie. He lifted a hand in greeting and then followed her into her flat where she got him some tea and biscuits; slamming the china down on the table.

"Oh, no. You don't take it, do you?" She asked, pointing to the sugar bowl.

John paused, seeing that she was upset and feeling a bit sheepish. "No."

"You forget a little thing like that."

"Yes."

"You forget _lots_ of little things, it seems." She pressed.

"Uh-huh."

"Not sure about that." Mrs. Hudson commented, gesturing to her lip in a mocking of John's mustache. "Ages you."

"Just trying it out."

"Well, it ages you." She said harshly and he swallowed thickly, bringing a hand to his brow.

"Look—"

"I'm not your mother." She cut him off. "I've no right to expect it."

"No—"

"But just _one_ phone call, John. Just one phone call would have done." She cried and he nodded.

"I know."

"After all we went through. Even _Sam_ called."

"Yes." John bobbed his head, trying to apologize. "I am sorry."

She sat down. "Look. I understand how difficult it was for you after… after…" She couldn't quite say it.

"I just let it slide, Mrs. Hudson. I let it all slide." John explained. "And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone, somehow… Do you know what I mean?"

Mrs. Hudson reached out and grabbed his arm, letting out a deep breath. They soon decided to go upstairs and John opened the door; stopping just inside as Mrs. Hudson flicked on the lights.

"He never liked me dusting." She commented, opening the curtains.

"No, I know." John nodded, spotting that she _had_ been dusting though.

"So why now? What changed your mind?" She asked him as he wandered towards the kitchen, rather curious as to why Sherlock's things were all still lying about after Mrs. Hudson claimed to have boxed them up before the funeral.

"Well, I've got some news."

"Oh, God. Is it serious?" She asked, fearing the worst.

"What? No. No, I'm not ill. I've, uh… Well, I'm… moving on."

"You're emigrating." She sighed sadly.

"Nope. Uh, no. I've, uh… I've met someone."

Mrs. Hudson grinned, clapping. "Oh, lovely."

"Yeah. We're getting married. Well, I'm going to ask, anyway."

"So soon after Sherlock?" She questioned.

"Well, yes."

"What's his name?" She smiled, curious.

John let out a long breath. "It's a woman."

"A _woman_?!"

"Yes, of _course_ it's a woman." He complained and she laughed.

"You really _have_ moved on, haven't you?"

"Mrs. Hudson, how many times—Sherlock was not my boyfriend."

"Live and let live. That's my motto."

"Listen to me. I am _not_ gay!"

"Sh!" She shushed him. "I don't think she's up yet and she's grumpy when people wake her."

John frowned. "Wake who?"

Something brushed up his leg then and he stepped back, looking down to see a black cat winding between his legs.

"A cat? Why is there a cat in here, Mrs. Hudson?"

The landlady sighed, not answering him as she moved to the kitchen. "Is your dish empty again, Smith? She never refills it for you, does she?"

"Smith? She? Mrs. Hudson, what's going on?" John asked, only to turn as a yawn echoed from the hall and a disheveled figure walked in, in a dark red dressing gown.

John stared in shock as the figure transformed into Sherlock before his eyes, only for him to blink and they returned to normal.

"You're spoiling him, Mrs. Hudson." Sam complained lightly, moving right past John as though he wasn't there and sitting in Sherlock's chair; legs hanging over the arm as she closed her eyes. "Hi, John."

"S-Sam? But what—" He looked at her and then around the room to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson filled a small bowl of cat food; laughing nervously as realization dawned on him. "Y-You live here?"

Sam hummed, not opening her eyes.

"But how? _Why_? What about your brothers?"

"Busy. They sent me off at the airport though. I'd say it was nice but I hadn't see them for nearly three years." She commented. "Mrs. Hudson? Can I get some breakfast, or should I eat out?"

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Dear, it's hardly time for breakfast, but I'll make you a sandwich."

"Love you." Sam smiled as the landlady rolled her eyes.

"But I'm not your house keeper. Dinner's on you."

"Righto."

John though, was still very much confused. "No, no. Now, hold on." He pointed at Sam. "Why are you living here?"

Sam finally glanced at him. "Because I couldn't stay in New York and Mrs. Hudson offered so long as I would go through Sherlock's things and be halfway decent."

"But your school—"

"Is over and done with. I graduated with a degree in Criminology and have my PI's license." She commented, sitting up and accepting the cup of tea Mrs. Hudson brought her. "I've been doing some of Sherlock's small-time cases, if you're wondering. People still post on his blog."

" _His_ blog?"

"The one where he posted his findings on the differences of tobacco ash." Sam replied, sipping her tea with a small smile. "Some think it's Sherlock back from the dead solving their problems."

"No, _no_." John snapped, stepping forward. "You can't do this. You can't be here! You can't just replace Sherlock, Sam!"

Sam calmly set her cup down. "I never said I was replacing him."

"Well, you sure are acting like it!" John snapped. "In his chair, wearing his dressing gown, acting like you know it all, taking _cases_! The hell do you think you're doing?!"

Sam suddenly stood, facing John with a stern glare and standing a few inches taller than him now.

" _Coping_." She spat heatedly, surprising John with a tone he'd never heard her use before. "I am keeping him alive in the minds of the people in the only way I know how. I'm keeping myself sane and able-minded by taking his left-over cases, and what are _you_ doing, John? You're shoving him to the back of your head like everyone else. So I don't want to hear you talking to me like _I'm_ the one doing something wrong. Now, I suggest you look around and start remembering him, as you intended to do when you came here, or get the _hell_ out of my flat."

* * *

"She actually said that?" The blonde smiled. "Ooh, I like her."

"Mary!" John complained.

"What?" She asked innocently. "You must have done _something_ to upset her."

"Me?" He gaped.

"Well, she's had a hard time dealing with what happened just as you have." Mary mused, sipping her drink. "Except you had me and she had no one. She had to find some way to cope and she wouldn't have snapped at you the way she did without a good reason, I think. From what you've told me, she seems fairly level-headed. _So_ , you've upset her in some way."

John cleared his throat, loosening his tie and looking away sheepishly as he winced at the memory of the funeral.

" _You_ killed _Sherlock Holmes and I'm never going to forgive you for that."_

"John, what did you do?" Mary said seriously then, knowing the signs he was presenting to her.

"Well, see, I told you about her whole… knowing things, right?" He said quietly and she nodded.

"A sort of psychic or something, yeah. You mentioned."

"I was rather upset about what had happened, right? And she had vanished after it all only to show up at his grave. Things were tense and I… wasn't exactly in the best state of mind. So I may have… lost my temper?"

"John Hamish Watson." Mary scolded him sternly, brows furrowed and a frown of disapproval on her face as John winced. "Tell me you did not."

He said nothing.

"Tell me you did _not_ hit her and blame her for what happened."

"I-I was angry." He tried to excuse. "She knew that he was going to die and didn't say or do anything to stop it. I-I honestly wasn't thinking right, Mary. You know how I was back then!"

"Have you apologized?" She asked then and he sank a little in his chair. "No, you have not. Well, no wonder she's angry with you. I would have done a lot more than that, to be honest. You're lucky she isn't upset about it."

John blinked, confused. "What? I thought you said she _was_ upset about it?"

"Oh, no." Mary waved off. "She could care less about whatever you said to her back then. She was probably already blaming herself. My guess is that something happened these last two years."

"What do you mean?"

"Please, John. Open your eyes." Mary chided him. "You said it yourself, she's acting like him. Said she was trying to cope. If she respects Sherlock as much as you say, then something must have happened for her to suddenly be doing her very best to live up to his image. It takes a lot for a woman to hide her grief, but even more to disguise it as something else." Mary pushed out her chair and stood. "Now I'm going to go wash up in the lady's room for a moment. I'll be right back."

"Alright." He said, before remembering something and hurrying to take it on before he was speaking louder than appropriate for the fancy restaurant he was in. "Don't take too long! I have something I need to ask you. It's, um, very important."

Mary smiled in amusement at his fumbling and he groaned, grabbing a menu and frowning down at it. _God, I'm an idiot. No, focus. Need to find a good champagne._ A waiter wandered over then, a heavy French accent attempting to draw John's attention him.

"Can I 'elp you with anything, sir?"

* * *

I let out a long breath, eyes shut with Smith asleep on my lap, a chiding voice in my ears.

" _That wasn't very nice you know. What you said to John._ "

"So? I was angry. I have every right to be angry with him." I complained as Bobbie sighed.

" _Doesn't make it right, Sam. I know you're upset, but he's coming back, Sherlock. We both know that. You won't have to be on your own anymore._ "

"You say that like it's a good thing. Maybe I _want_ to be alone for a while."

" _That's not true and you know it. If you wanted to be left alone, you could have stayed in New York._ "

I scowled, brows furrowing in annoyance. "That's not why I left and you know it. I couldn't stand to be in the same _country_ as those bastards. Loneliness had nothing to do with it."

" _Guilt did._ " He said shortly.

"Shut up." I muttered, chest aching.

" _You left because you couldn't stand being in our flat anymore. Seeing my ghost everywhere you went. Having a nightmare only to wake up without me beside you. Just admit it, Sam. You left because you blamed yourself for me and this was the only other place you could go._

"Shut _up_!" I shouted, startling Smith from his perch as I snapped my eyes open and sat up in my seat.

I panted in anger, which quickly turned into a deep wave of sorrow; dropping my head into my hands with a shuttering breath as Mrs. Hudson rapped her knuckles on the door.

"Are you alright, dear?" She asked and I dropped a hand from my face, not lifting my gaze from the floor.

"Sorry. I'm fine." I replied, before catching a whiff of a familiar scent. "Was I smoking?"

"I'm afraid so." She said, moving into the kitchen with some groceries. "For the last few hours. You were smoking when I mentioned I was going out to do the shopping. I don't think you heard me."

I lifted my head and spotted the ashtray with a number of snuffed out cigarettes, wincing. "He hated it when I smoked."

"Who's that then?" She asked curiously, meaning no harm.

"Bobbie." I muttered, standing to help her put things away. "My boyfriend."

"Oh! You never said you two were a thing." She cooed, patting my arm as she passed me to put away the tea and coffee. "I always assumed you were going to be another one like Sherlock."

"Gay?" I quipped, earning a small smile from her.

"No, deary. Distracted."

I snorted, putting the milk in the fridge. "If that's what you call it."

"Him always off in his work and you trailing along after him."

"You make me sound like a lost puppy." I muttered, making her chuckle.

"Back then dear, you almost were. You and him had something special, I think, despite the age difference. You understood one another. There were times when…" She smiled, pausing. "There were times when I would come in and think you had just woken up, only to return a minute later to you sleeping as Sherlock played his violin. And you always knew just when he wanted a cuppa. No word from him, just one minute everything was fine, then you were up and in the kitchen. And he always drank it. Doesn't always do that for me. It was like clockwork with you two."

I smiled softly. "I miss him."

"Don't we all?"

* * *

Sherlock nursed a split lip at the _third_ shop they'd come to having said all the wrong things apparently while revealing himself to John. He couldn't help one more though.

"Seriously? It's not a joke?" He asked, gesturing to his lip. "You're really keeping it?"

John cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Sure?"

"Mary likes it.

"Mm, no she doesn't." Sherlock argued.

"She does."

"She doesn't."

John turned to Mary, who shook her head, attempting to say something, but John understood.

"Oh, brilliant."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to tell you." She apologized.

"Brilliant. No, no, this is charming. I really miss this." He stabbed a finger at Sherlock, taking a second before getting in the man's face. "One word, Sherlock. That is _all_ I would have needed. One word to let me know you were alive."

"I've nearly been in contact so many times, but—" Sherlock tried, John laughing in disbelief. "—I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet."

"What?"

"Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag."

"Oh, so this is _my_ fault?!"

Mary laughed at that.

"Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong?! The only one reacting like a human being?!"

" _Over_ -reacting!" Sherlock chimed in, making John shout.

"Over-reacting?!"

"John!" Mary tried to calm him.

"Over-reacting?! So you fake your own death—"

"Sh!" Sherlock shushed him.

"—and you waltz in here large as bloody life—"

"Sh!" Sherlock hushed again.

"—but I'm not supposed to have a problem with that. No, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly _okay thing to do_!"

"Shut up, John!" Sherlock finally shouted. "I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive!"

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?!" He shouted back.

"Yes! It's still a secret!" Sherlock calmed down then, remembering where they were and there were others in the building. "Promise you won't tell anyone."

"Swear to God!" John snapped, before finally letting out a breath and calming.

Sherlock took his chance. "London is in danger, John. There's an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help."

John stared at him in disbelief, turning to Mary and back to Sherlock. " _My_ help?"

Sherlock grinned. "You _have_ missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world. And Sam, of cour—"

John cut him off by grabbing his lapels and rearing his head back to head-butt the man; getting them thrown out for the third time as Sherlock dabbed at his bloody nose with a napkin.

"I don't understand." He muttered, confused as John went to hail a cab; standing beside Mary who had watched in silent amusement at the two's interactions. "I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Gosh. You don't know a thing about human nature, do you?"

"Mm, nature? No. Human?... No. Sam's usually around to be the buffer."

"Love to see how she does that." Mary smiled. "I'll talk him round."

Sherlock paused, looking at her in surprise. "You will?"

"Oh, yeah." She smiled and Sherlock looked her over, making some deductions, but nothing that would explain why she would help him.

After all, most of John's girlfriends hated him. What made her so different?

"I still have to get him to apologize to Sam." She mused. "That's easier though. He already feels guilty after I chewed him out at dinner."

Sherlock raised a brow. "Apologize? For hitting her?"

Mary gave him a look. "Oh, of course you were there… Though I suggest keeping that a secret from John. If he knew you were watching him then, he'd give you a lot more than a bloody nose."

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, acknowledging that.

"She knew though, yeah? Sam? With her future knowledge or whatever?"

Sherlock whipped back around. "She told you?"

" _John_ told me." She corrected and Sherlock groaned.

"This is why I didn't tell him I was alive."

Mary chuckled. "Yes, well, I suggest checking up on her too. Even if she knew you weren't dead, I get the feeling she might need you."

"Need me?" He asked. "What for?"

"Just something John said. Call it… women's intuition." Mary smiled as John called out to her and she left with him; leaving Sherlock to wonder what had happened in the two years he was gone for Sam to need him, like Mary said.

* * *

Sam slept peacefully on Sherlock's bed, having only just returned from a case. Namely, finding Smith after Mrs. Hudson had accidentally let him out. He hadn't been pleased when she found him neither, earning her a nice scratch across the face that narrowly missed her eye as it went down her nose and onto her cheek. She'd merely wiped it clean before collapsing in Sherlock's bed; having stayed up the last few nights attempting to figure out a code someone sent her via Sherlock's blog. Said code wasn't a threat—as the client feared—but turned out to only be their college roommate who was studying linguistics writing up a grocery list. Smith was curled up beside her as well, despite his earlier mood, and stirred when footsteps were heard entering the building.

Mrs. Hudson's scream rang out a few minutes later, but the cat merely lifted his head and blinked before settling down again; his master having not stirred. She'd needed the sleeping draughts again. The steps moved to the stairs and soon into 221B, roaming around until they sought where Sam was resting. A tall figure walked into the darkened room; Smith paying no mind as they approached the slumbering woman. A hand reached down towards her, coming within inches of her, before her eyes snapped open and Smith was forced from the bed as Sam abruptly launched herself at them.

She'd hit them hard upside the head, but her foot caught in the sheet and she fell down with him. She was quick though, rolling to the side and grabbing a gun from Sherlock's old sock drawer. With a click of the hammer, she stood and towered above the downed figure; moving to switch on the lights as they groaned.

"Move, and I put a bullet in you." She snarled, flicking on the overhead light only to frown as she saw who her attacker was.

Sherlock blinked at her in annoyance, a hand placed on his bruising jaw. "Well, that is not _quite_ the welcome I was expecting."

"Sherlock." Sam said, lowering the gun and unarming it as she brought a hand to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. "The _hell_ is your problem?"

"Hello to you too." He grumbled, getting up before giving her a once over as she sagged against the doorframe.

 _Exhausted, fighting off a drug to help her sleep, no doubt. Taller, claw marks on face. Too small to be a dog's, cat's then. That one? Didn't clean herself up before collapsing in bed. There's a twig in her hair from one of the hedges outside. That cat then._ His eyes narrowed at the black feline that hopped back on top of the bed and started to get comfortable once more. _Her cat. Ah, she lives here now. Couldn't keep her away, as I thought. Seems better though. No recent track marks, but she's been smoking more. Excellent reflexes, however. There's something about her though. Something off._

"Get out." Sam grumbled then, drawing him from his thoughts.

"Excuse me?"

She scowled at him, eyes unfocused. "We can do this tomorrow, can't we? I'm two seconds from collapsing, you probably won't be sleeping. Not while 'the game's afoot' or whatever. We can do the whole 'hi, not dead' bit later. Goodnight, Sherlock."

And with that, she slammed the door to his own bedroom in his face; him having not even noticed when she'd maneuvered him out the door. She opened the door again though, peering out tiredly.

"There's icepacks in the freezer and medical stuff in the bathroom." She informed him with narrowed eyes. "Do something about your back, or it'll get infected."

She shut the door again and Sherlock snorted with an amused smile. _Same old Sam._

* * *

" _Sherlock!" John's shout rang in my ears as I shivered and quaked in the inky blackness that surrounded me._

 _Moriarty laughed manically and I was soon on my feet, running as far and fast as I could. My body ached and the crook of my arm itched. My old bullet would felt on fire as I rounded the corner and saw flashing red and blue lights._ No… _I hurried over, trying to duck under the crime scene tape only to be held back by officers._

" _No! No, let me through! Bobbie! H-He's my boyfriend, please! Let me see him! Bobbie!_ Bobbie _!"_

 _I was shoved back, just as I caught sight of his bloody body just inside the convenience store. I tripped and stumbled, falling and just barely grabbing onto the side of a cliff. Water roared behind me as I clung desperately to the rocks, fingers growing numb. I tried to haul myself up, but his laughter rang out again and I bit back a cry of pain as a polished shoe stamped on my hand._

" _What's wrong, Sammy? You don't honestly expect him to save you, do you? Sherlock Holmes?" He mocked me as I grit my teeth. "Oh, but I don't even have to do this, do I?"_

 _He removed his foot and I glared up at him._

" _Oh, don't make a face like that. You know you'll do it yourself. The Fall. I don't even have to force you. You just need the right motivation." He smiled, sickly sweet as he leaned down and whispered into my ear; the noise of the waterfall behind me going mute. "Because you're all alone, aren't you, Sammy?"_

 _My brothers leaving me at the airport._

 _Bobbie being shot._

 _John hitting me at Sherlock's grave._

 _Sherlock himself giving me a passing glance before jumping off St. Bart's._

 _My resolve cracked and he chuckled._

" _Oh, my poor Sammy. All alone. So why not just give in? Why not just let go? Hm, Sammy? Why are you so desperately clinging to this hope of yours?"_

 _My fingers loosened as his words slithered into my head and dug sharp talons into my mind._

" _That's it. That's it, just let go. You would be so much happier, don't you think? Just slipping off, falling, finishing this game. Just let go, Sam."_

 _His face and voice morphed; dark curls accenting his pale face and blue scarf._

" _Just let go."_

 _My fingers released and I fell. Down, down, down until I hit something and water raced up to drown me. Water dark and thick like oil, suffocating and throwing me about. A gasp of air, then more water, air, water, air, water, water, so much water._ No, I don't know anything… _Water…_ No, I won't tell you anything… _Air, then water._ P-Please… Stop this… _Drowning, suffocating, can't breathe. Can't breathe! Somebody! Anybody!_

" _You're all alone, Sammy."_

* * *

I shot up with a gasp, panting and wheezing as my hand grabbed at my throat and I closed my teary eyes against the panic attack threatening to take a hold. I brought my knees to my chest and entangled my hands in my short hair, tugging on it to use the pain as an anchor to keep me bound to reality as my nightmare threatened to topple my world. My shoulder was on fire, burning as it always did after I remembered Moriarty and the crook of my elbow tingled, itching for a fix that I didn't want to indulge in. There was a small scratching at the door and I knew Smith was on the other side. As comforting as it would be to curl up with him, he never was one for cuddling and only did so on his own terms. This was not one of those times. He just wanted the bed. Thinking about this helped calm me enough so that I uncurled myself and got up.

Bad move. Everything shifted for a moment and I grabbed the nightstand as my equilibrium steadied itself once more. I was still light-headed from my earlier panic, but I forced myself to move. I grabbed a change of clothes and left the room for the shower; not bothering to look at Sherlock as he stared at some sort of collage he'd stuck to the wall above the couch. The shower helped to further ease the tension in my shoulders, though not entirely. Watching the water go down the drain reminded me only of the water I'd drowned in in my nightmare. The sound of the water hitting the tile, like the waterfall at the cliff edge. I grit my teeth and slammed my fist into the wall beside me; anger at myself and my actions in my nightmare coming loose like the fraying edge of a sweater. I could feel myself unraveling, but I did what I could to shove it all aside; wind it all up to piece together later. _I can't do this right now. There's bombs in the subway tunnels, Sherlock and John are having issues, I'll be needed._

I turned off the hot water and stepped out, drying and pulling on my pair of dark jeans and a grey turtleneck; attempting to do my best to ignore the ghost-like image in the mirror as I walked out. I was not pleased to see that Mycroft had joined Sherlock while I'd showered, but paid them no mind as I moved into the kitchen and heard the back-end of their conversation.

"All really interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to critical." Mycroft commented. "And unless Sam is willing to give anything away, we're stuck waiting on you."

"Boring. Your move." Sherlock replied, and I could feel eyes on me.

Whether they were Mycroft's or Sherlock's, I didn't bother to find out. I'd since grown a tougher outer shell. Nasty comments hardly bothered me, be they the Holmes' or the press.

"We have solid information. An attack _is_ coming." Mycroft urged.

"'Solid information'." Sherlock mocked. "A secret terrorist organization's planning an attack. That's what secret terrorist organizations _do_ , isn't it? It's their version of golf."

"An agent gave his life to tell us that."

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have." Sherlock said abrasively. "He was obviously just trying to show off."

I set down a tea cup and saucer, as well as two mugs on a tray and frowned; not realizing I'd made drinks for everyone until now. I'd only been attempting to make my own coffee, but apparently had zoned out. There was no going back though, and I took the tray into the living room as Sherlock moved a piece from the game of Operation; having left the chess board on the coffee table. I passed Mycroft his cup and he raised a brow at me, but took it. I then handed Sherlock his, only to pull it back when he reached for it.

"Apologize."

"What?" He frowned, confused.

I gave him a look, gesturing with my head to Mycroft and he rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"Apologies about your… _agent_."

Mycroft looked a bit surprised, but nodded his head in acknowledgement as Sherlock held out his hand again for his coffee.

"Two years?" I pressed, urging him to apologize to me too.

He scowled. "But you knew what was going on."

"Doesn't mean I couldn't have gotten a phone call on how you were doing." I argued. "Besides, my information was limited on those two years. I knew the general idea of what you were doing and I knew you were in Tibet until Mycroft pulled you out, but everything else is not _important_ enough for me to know, apparently." I complained, silently blaming the need for Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat to be mysterious about Sherlock's death, resurrection, and his missing two years. "A call would have been appreciated, that's all."

I passed him his mug and took mine to the couch, curling around it as I lifted the lid of my laptop to see if there was anything worth doing on Sherlock's website. Silence came from the two men for a minute or so, before Sherlock muttered out something I barely heard.

"Sorry."

I hummed in quiet appreciation, before him and his brother got back on track.

"None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" Mycroft asked, glancing over my head at the web of photos Sherlock had set up. "Your move."

"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad. Your move."

"I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case." Mycroft added as incentive.

"I _am_ on the case. We're _all_ on the case. Look at us right now." Sherlock replied, before there was a buzzing noise from the Operation game and Mycroft scowled.

"Oh, bugger!"

"Oopsie!" Sherlock joked. "Can't handle a broken heart. How _very_ telling."

"Don't be smart." Mycroft scolded him and I scoffed, ignoring the glare sent my way.

"That takes me back." Sherlock mused, making fun of Mycroft some more. "'Don't be smart, Sherlock. _I'm_ the smart one'."

"I _am_ the smart one." Mycroft grumbled.

"I used to think I was an idiot."

" _Both_ of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on 'til we met other children."

"Oh, yes. _That_ was a mistake."

"Ghastly. What _were_ they thinking off?"

" _Probably_ something about trying to make friends." Sherlock guessed.

"Oh, yes. _Friends_. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now."

"And you don't? Ever?" Sherlock questioned his brother.

"If _you_ seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what _real_ people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish."

Sherlock steepled his hands as I glanced at him. "Yes, but I've been away for two years."

"So?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a… goldfish."

"Give it a couple of years, Sherlock." I piped in, looking back at my laptop screen and struggling to not smile at Mycroft's disgusted face.

"Change the subject. _Now_." Mycroft snapped, standing and moving to the fireplace with his tea.

"Rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre."

 _Understatement of the century._ I mused, remembering how long it took Sherlock to realize that the simple word 'underground' was the secret. Mrs. Hudson walked in then and Mycroft smirked.

"Speaking of which…"

"Behave." I chided him, as the landlady walked in with a tray of biscuits and a grin on her face. "Morning, Mrs. Hudson."

"I can't believe it." She cooed happily. "I just can't believe it! Him, sitting in his chair again. Not that you doing it didn't remind me of him, Sam, but oh. Isn't it wonderful, Mr. Holmes?" She questioned Mycroft who forced a smile as he answered sarcastically.

"I can barely contain myself."

"Oh, he really _can_ , you know." Sherlock tacked on, but she wasn't convinced.

"He's secretly pleased to see you underneath all that."

"Sorry, which of us?" Mycroft asked.

"Both of you." Mrs. Hudson and I replied together.

She smiled at me and chuckled, walking out as Smith emerged from Sherlock's bedroom with a stretch and wandered to Mycroft. Said man scowled at the feline as he sniffed the man's shoe and proceeded to rub up against his calf.

"What is this… _thing_ doing here?"

"Call him a 'thing' again and I won't help you when he scratches you." I mused, lifting my gaze to the frowning Holmes. "Believe it or not, he _does_ get offended. I called him a pain in the ass when he got out last night and I'm sure my face speaks for itself."

"Hm, quite." He said tensely, glaring at Smith and I rolled my eyes, getting up.

"Smith, come on."

Hearing his name and spotting me moving to the kitchen, Smith quickly abandoned Mycroft for some treats. After getting him to sit and beg, I gave him a couple and scratched him behind the ears, earning a short purr of contentment. _He hardly makes a sound though. Thought he was mute for so long until he let out a meow. Purrs are near silent and makes an actual noise perhaps once a month. Clever though. Can sit and beg, knows when to come, but still working on lie down._ I sighed softly as I returned to the living room as Mycroft tossed a hat at Sherlock.

"The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad; in Peru."

"Peru?" Sherlock questioned and I sighed at the bonding moment between two clever brothers trying to one-up the other.

"This is a chullo. The classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca."

Sherlock smirked. "No."

"No?"

"Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive _if_ you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibers. Ask Sam."

I hummed. "And tobacco ashes."

I'd noticed Mrs. Hudson hadn't come back in and assumed she'd seen that I had already made tea and coffee for everyone, deeming another trip up pointless. _Changed something already. Oh, well._

"You said he was anxious." Sherlock added, awaiting an explanation.

"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but—"

"—but also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right." Sherlock finished.

"Precisely."

Sherlock sniffed the hat with a grimace. "Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath. Brilliant." He said sarcastically.

"Elementary."

"No one really says that." I tacked on, earning another glare from Mycroft as I typed a response to one of the cases on Sherlock's blog.

"But you've missed his isolation." Sherlock continued, briefly giving me a curious look.

"I don't see it." Mycroft admitted.

"Plain as day."

"Where?"

"There for all to see." Sherlock teased, tantalizingly.

"Tell me."

"Plain as the noise on your—"

"Stop messing with him and say it already." I complained, earning a smirk.

"Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Rude." I grumbled.

"Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated." Mycroft commented.

"Exactly."

Mycroft frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"He's different. So what? Why would he mind? You're quite right." Sherlock put the hat on his head. "Why would _anyone_ mind?"

Mycroft gave him a disbelieving look at what he was implying. "I'm not lonely, Sherlock."

"How would you know?" Sherlock said seriously, ripping off the hat as I spoke up.

"You know, if you two weren't brothers, I'd be telling you to get a room."

Both brothers made faces at that, but Mycroft moved towards the door.

"Yes, back to work, if you don't mind. Good morning."

I snorted, calling out after Mycroft as he walked out the door. "It's a coworker, if you really want to know."

His step faltered for a second before he continued on and I chuckled slightly before returning to my email.

"Right, back to work." Sherlock muttered, but instead of moving to work with his photos some more, he sat in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth.

"You want to talk." I concluded, not looking up as I finished and sent the message to the man who felt the need to ask if he was being cheated on.

"Hm, you've changed."

"It's been two years." I countered as Smith wandered over and I begrudgingly set the computer aside so he could hop up and nap on my lap as I sipped my coffee; which was getting cold.

"Night terrors, bags under your eyes, twitching fingers, stiff shoulder from where your old bullet wound is bothering you. You're depressed and itching for a fix."

I frowned at him. "And? Again, you were dead for two years. Someone had to deal with the mess you left behind."

"Which is why you've been solving my cases. The dull ones. Not so much cleaning the mess as creating a distraction." He sat up and dropped his hands, looking at me. "Something happened. Something which has you showing your true colors on your sleeve and hiding away everything that made you feel weak. The stutter, the shyness, the anxious tells, even your expressions. You're all blunt and sarcastic with eyes that can cut through stone. Eyes like mine. You're not trying to impress anymore, Sam, you're trying to cope."

"You know, most people just ask what happened." I complained. "But you're not most people, are you?"

I twitched at the line, feeling my shoulder ache in remembrance of Moriarty, before I stood and made to grab my coat.

"Where are you going?" He questioned.

"I don't want to talk about it." I said, pausing and running my fingers over the scarf Bobbie had gotten me back when I was so sick that I couldn't feel warm. "I know he could want me to, but… perhaps some other time, Sherlock."

I could feel him watching me, a little surprised when he spoke.

"Mary said there was something wrong."

I frowned, looking back at him. "What? I've not met Mary yet."

"Which is why I found it odd." He said, getting up and heading over to stand before me and look at me with a curious expression. "She said she had the feeling you might need me."

I didn't move, continuing to watch him in confusion as my stomach twisted in worry.

"And I'd say she was right." Sherlock finished and I swallowed thickly before turning away to leave.

"I'll see you in a bit, Sherlock." I muttered, reaching down and scratching Smith behind the ears. "And the secret's in the wording."

"Wording?" He questioned, confused.

"Hint of the day." I replied, lifting a hand to wave over my shoulder. "Later."


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock was frustrated. Not only was John not willing to speak with him, but Sam had fled as well. It was annoying. He was on a case. Sam knew that, John did as well, and yet here he was on his own trying to figure it out. His skull was even less helpful than before, so it wasn't long before he called in some outside help. Molly had been called, though having expected something else in mind other than assisting in his case solving. Sherlock started with the small stuff first, hoping to ease up some of the workload Sam had in the hopes that when she returned to the flat she'd be available to help. They were dull cases, occasionally emotional, but he pushed through them. If Sam could tolerate them, then so could he. The case with Scotland Yard was slightly more interesting, though Sherlock was curious as to why Lestrade hadn't called in Sam.

 _Not picking up her phone or answering his texts. Odd, but she rushed off earlier. Probably assumed I would have it covered._ Sherlock assumed as he and Molly left the most recent case. Mr. Shilcott, the man he'd borrowed the hat from for his brother's little test, had found an issue with a vanishing man on a tube car. Sherlock though, had recognized the man getting on the tube. He had actually gotten so distracted from trying to figure out how he knew the man, that he hadn't noticed he'd stopped on the stairs leaving the flat until he snapped out of it.

"The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took _ten_ minutes; ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park." He rattled off as it clicked in his head what could have happened, looking down at a stunned Molly. "So I'm going to need maps. Lots of maps, older maps, all the maps."

"Alright."

"Fancy some chips?" Sherlock asked as he went past her down the stairs, remembering how Sam used to grow a bit more sluggish on cases when she was hungry.

"What?"

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

Molly smirked a bit as she followed after him. "Did you get him off a murder charge?"

"No. I helped him put up some shelves."

She chuckled a little, before stopping him. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?" He paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her.

"What was today about?"

"Saying thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything you did for me. Sam says it's best to _show_ my thanks, for some reason. Claims no one believes me when I just say it."

Molly's lip twitched into a forced smile. "It's okay. It was my pleasure."

"No." He said, stopping _her_ now as she walked past him. "I mean it."

"I don't mean 'pleasure'. I mean… I didn't mind. I wanted to." Molly replied, Sherlock stepping closer.

"Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible." He sucked in a breath then, letting it out. "But you can't do _this_ again, can you?"

Molly smiled, but her voice cracked slightly. "I had a lovely day. I'd love to. I just… um…"

"Congratulations, by the way." Sherlock commented.

She looked down at the engagement ring on her finger. "He's not from work."

Sherlock smiled, remembering how Molly's previous date had actually been Jim in disguise as her coworker.

"We met through friends, old-fashioned way. He's nice. We… He's got a dog… W-We go to the pub on weekends and he… I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I've no idea why I'm telling you any of this." She muttered.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not _all_ the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths." Sherlock teased.

"No?"

"No." He said, leaning down and kissing her cheek briefly, before pulling away and walking out.

"Maybe it's just my type." Molly said, too low for him to catch before they went their separate ways.

Sherlock returned to 221B, having stopped by the chip shop on the way and grabbing enough food for him and Sam. He was displeased to see she hadn't returned, though as he looked a while longer, a frown began to form on his face. _She_ was _here. Her coat's back as is her scarf._ He spotted the open violin case on the couch; one that wasn't his. _She'd been going to play before something interrupted her. Someone at the door, perhaps? But then where is she? No right-minded individual would just leave without their coat this time of night._ He ate a chip as he heard a familiar voice from downstairs and he headed to the door to meet her.

"Mary? What's wrong?" He knew immediately that something was wrong if the woman was visiting without her husband.

"Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code." She rattled off, surprising Sherlock briefly before she showed him the message she'd gotten on her phone.

 _Save souls now!_

 _John or James Watson?_

"First word, then every third." Sherlock mused. Save John Watson."

 _Saint or Sinner?_

 _James or John?_

 _The more is Less?_

Sherlock immediately locked on to the key words 'Saint James the Lesser' and dropped his chips as he raced downstairs with Mary.

"Now!"

"Where are we going?!" Mary asked.

"St. James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car." Sherlock replied. "Did you drive here?"

"Uh, yes."

Sherlock turned around in the middle of the street. "It's too slow. It's too slow."

A car blared it's horn as it swerved around him.

"Sherlock, what are we waiting for?!" Mary demanded frantically.

"This."

He stepped into the path of a motorcycle, held up his hand and quickly bartered for the bike. They raced to the church, getting texts from the kidnappers the closer they got, but soon reached a road blocked by police. Sherlock calculated a different route and hurried, ignoring the protests from the officers as he sped to the church in concern for his friend. He continued to find as short of routes as he could, spotting the bonfire being held nearby. The next text seemed to mock him too.

What a shame Mr. Holmes. John is quite a Guy!

Sherlock understood and ice went through his veins as he spotted the flaming bonfire.

"Oh my God."

Screams rang out as Sherlock and Mary jumped off the bike and rushed to the fire. Sherlock quickly pulled John from the fire, patting his face, but glad when he saw that he was at least semi-conscious.

"S-Sam." He muttered and Sherlock stopped.

"What?"

"S-Sam." John repeated, weakly lifting a finger to point at the fire and Sherlock's heart stopped.

He left John and dove back towards the fire, wincing away from the flames as he dug deeper. He spotted a bare foot and grabbed it around the ankle, heaving to pull out Sam from the bonfire. She was unconscious with a nasty bruise and gash across her temple, and Sherlock grimaced as he hastily put out the flames starting to lick at her arm with his scarf.

"Sam! Sam!" He called out, hitting her face lightly as well. "Come on, Sam. Wake up. _Move_!"

He leaned over to check that she was breathing, and relaxed slightly when she was, before returning to try and rouse her. A groan was finally released from her, before she coughed and hacked from smoke inhalation. A shaky laugh of relief left him as she groaned again and glared at him.

"I-I… _hate_ you." She spat out with a wheeze as Sherlock helped her sit up. "S-Stop pissing… people off."

"Don't know if I can." He smiled, and nearby sirens made Sam groan louder as the ambulance came to take them by the hospital.

* * *

I woke up feeling exhausted, though it wasn't caused by nightmares, for once. My body ached and my throat felt like sandpaper. I immediately began coughing and feeling my lungs heave in the clean, not-smoke-filled air. I groped around until I found the glass of water on the nightstand and sat up to drink in a vain attempt to sooth my throat. John and I had been quickly released from the hospital last night without much issue. While he suffered minor smoke inhalation, mine was slightly more severe and I had bandages over my right hand from my fingers down to my elbow from second degree and third degree burns. They had wanted to keep me overnight after getting a look at my head, but John managed to convince them otherwise and Sherlock and I returned to 221B, while he returned home with Mary. I, myself, had taken some sleeping meds and knocked out the first chance I had.

I regretted it slightly now, seeing that it had long since passed morning and was edging into the afternoon. With a small sigh, I got up and went to head to the kitchen, only to pause when I heard voices from the living room.

"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa. Aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so." A man admitted easily and I dragged a hand down my face as my beaten mind caught up to what was going on.

 _Sherlock's parents. First I forget about the Guy Fawkes mess and get bashed upside the head and nearly killed, then I forget about the Holmes'. I need to get myself straightened out if I'm going to be of any use… though I still question why I'm trying so hard for that big-headed moron, Sherlock._ The soft pitter patter of claws on wood made me look over to see Smith waiting for me at the end of the hall and I knew my position had been given away; to Sherlock, at least. Seeing no real need to hide myself, I walked out and gave the glaring Sherlock a bored look.

"Oh! Hello, dear." Mrs. Holmes called out with a worried look. "Did we wake you? Sherlock didn't mention he had someone over."

She sent him a look and he pointedly avoided it.

"It's fine, Mrs. Holmes." I replied with a croaky voice, ignoring how Sherlock's gaze immediately went to me at my words. "It was about time I was up anyhow. I'm Sam Foxe, and apologies for not shaking your hands. Mine's a bit…"

I held up my bandaged appendage and couldn't say I wasn't surprised when she rounded on Sherlock.

"Injured? You're getting young ladies hurt in your detective business?"

"No." Sherlock argued with a groan. "There was just an incident and she happened to be at the wrong place. _I_ certainly didn't do it."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

Hearing Sherlock's full name come out, I decided I'd done enough teasing of the detective and cut in.

"Mrs. Holmes, it's fine, honestly. It was carelessness on my part, not his. No need to shout." I soothed her. "Would you like some tea? I doubt he offered you any."

She went to answer, but Sherlock suddenly stood and approached them.

"So did you find it eventually? Your lottery ticket?" He asked, trying to bring a swift end to our meeting and get them out as quickly as possible.

"Sherlock." I chimed, stopping him as I moved into the kitchen to at least make tea for myself. "Don't step on the coffee table or the couch with your shoes on."

I could _feel_ him glaring at my back, but heard him throw his shoes across the room before stepping over to the tangled web of pictures and maps on the wall above said couch as Mrs. Holmes responded to his question.

"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, uh, St Paul's, the Tower… but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament. Some big debate going on."

"Anti-terrorism bill." I called out, clearing my throat painfully afterwards as I poured the tea; hoping Sherlock would see the importance of my knowing that information.

Unfortunately, he was a bit more distracted by John showing up.

"John!"

"Sorry, you're busy."

"No, no, no. They were just leaving." Sherlock said, trying to pull his mother to her feet.

"Oh, were we?"

"Yes." Sherlock said sternly as I set about getting John tea as well.

 _Might as well make Sherlock his coffee too while I'm at it._

"No, no. If you've got a case—"

John was cut off.

"No, not a case. No, no, no." Sherlock said. "Go, go."

"Yes, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember." His mother reminded him.

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."

"Well, give us a ring."

"Very nice. Yes, good. Get _out_."

He shoved them out the door, but Mrs. Holmes stopped him from shutting it with her shoe—much to Sherlock's annoyance—and I wandered out of the kitchen and gave John his tea. He took it with a grateful smile and I managed a small one in return, before leaning around Sherlock's shoulder to speak with his parents.

"I'll make sure he calls."

" _Sam._ " Sherlock hissed and I rolled my eyes.

"You can do that much." I chided him. "Nice to meet you both."

She smiled at me. "And you dear."

I stepped away then, allowing Sherlock to have his little moment with his parents as I moved to rest on the couch. It didn't take long for the door to be shut and for Smith to move up onto my lap; Sherlock turning around with a slightly embarrassed look. Though one would have to be used to him enough to see it.

"Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine. Clients?" John asked.

Sherlock hesitated, glancing at me, but I raised a brow and he begrudgingly responded truthfully.

"…Just my parents."

"Your parents?"

"In town for a few days." Sherlock went on.

"Your parents?" John repeated, stunned.

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of ' _Les Mis_ '. Tried to talk _me_ into doing it."

"Those were your parents?" John questioned again, looking out the window.

"Yes."

"Well…" He chuckled. "That is not what I…"

"What?" Sherlock questioned.

"I mean, they're just… so… ordinary."

I snorted. "Believe me, John. They're anything but." I glanced at Sherlock. "Physicist or mathematician? I forgot."

Sherlock scowled. "How can you forget?"

I shrugged, clearing my throat and lifting my tea. "I don't have the information readily available to brush up on. It's been _more_ than two years since I'd first learned of future events. There's no way to keep it fresh other than writing it down or going through it mentally every so often, and there's no way I'm writing it down for someone to get their hands on. I'm not an idiot. So, physicist or mathematician?"

Sherlock watched me for a moment, contemplating something, before turning away as he responded. "Mathematician."

"Ah."

"Um, sorry. Who are we talking about?" John questioned, looking between the two of us with furrowed brows; probably realizing something was going on.

"His mother." I muttered. "A genius mathematician. Very _un_ ordinary."

John moved away from the window and spoke. "Did _they_ know too?"

"Hm?" Sherlock hummed, pointedly keeping his gaze averted.

"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek." John clarified, already frowning at the impending answer.

"Maybe." Sherlock murmured, giving me a desperate look that I ignored.

"Ah! So, _that's_ why they weren't at the funeral."

"Sorry. Sorry again."

John hummed, not really believing the apology and when he moved to the door, Sherlock repeated it, with a bit more meaning.

"Sorry." He looked at me then, surprising me slightly. "To the both of you."

John let out a small sigh, relaxing a bit and glancing at me briefly before turning away. _Seems he's still hesitant about apologizing to me about the whole hitting thing. Either that, or he doesn't want to do it in front of Sherlock. Shame he doesn't know about the drug problems I had, nor Bobbie. The three of us would make for quite the mess if we just went and spouted out all our problems right now._

"See you've shaved it off, then." Sherlock commented about John's mustache, changing the topic.

"Yeah. Wasn't working for me." He claimed, though I knew that between Sherlock and Mary, he'd been convinced it was no good.

"Mm, I'm glad."

"What? You didn't like it?"

Sherlock smirked. "No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

"That's not a sentence you hear every day."

"Nor from two supposedly straight men." I tacked on, giving the two a look. "If you're going to flirt, can't you do it elsewhere?"

"We're _not_ gay." John pressed, taking a seat in his usual chair. "How's your arm, by the way?"

I lifted it and looked it over. "Been better. Not stiff or anything, but stings on occasion with certain movements. I won't be typing responses to your cases for a while, Sherlock, so you best catch up with your work. And you, John?"

I cleared my throat yet again and sipped at my tea.

"Bit smoked." He quipped, looking at Sherlock seriously. "Last night. Who did that? Why did they target us?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted begrudgingly.

"Yet another sentence you don't hear every day." I murmured.

"Is it someone trying to get to you _through_ us? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?" John pressed.

"I don't know." Sherlock repeated, moving towards me and giving me a look, though I knew he'd be aiming for his wall of information. "I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous. Though, you mentioned I upset someone, Sam."

I looked up at him as he hovered and sighed, hand shifting over Smith's back on my lap. "If it helps, the person or people who put us in that bonfire have nothing to do with this case. It will be a while before you deal with them, though where we ended up is potentially important I suppose. That being said, I _did_ already give you a hint about this terrorist mess."

"Yes." He hummed, staring above me at the wall now. "'The secret's in the wording'. Your so-called 'hint of the day'... Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant?"

"'Give his life'?" John questioned in shock.

"According to Mycroft." Sherlock replied. "There's an underground network planning an attack on London. That's all we know." He made a face then, before gesturing to the wall. "These are my rats, John."

"Rats?"

John looked to me for help, but I remained silent and allowed Sherlock to explain.

"My markers. Agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth…" He pointed to a photo and I leaned back to get a look.

"I know him, don't I?" John questioned, pointing as well.

"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment." Sherlock rattled off, the name making me shiver as I remembered a _different_ Moran.

"Yes!"

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

John's expression fell. "What?"

"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed."

* * *

"I'm going to take a shower." Sam said then, looking a little unnerved by something as Sherlock went towards his computer.

John watched her go and waited until the water was running before speaking up. "Did something happen between you two? I thought things would be okay because she knew about you."

Sherlock gave John a look. "While she was upset about my not getting into contact with her, just as you were, it seems that she has something else on her mind and doesn't care for my prying."

"Something else?" John questioned. "Like what?"

"I don't know." Sherlock said, frowning himself as he shifted his gaze to the bathroom door. "Something that happened while I was gone. She refuses to tell me, but she's been solving my cases, John. As a distraction from something. She's tucked away that old shy persona that we knew and covered it up to protect herself from whatever it was that happened, and it wasn't the drugs."

"Drugs?" John gaped, not having known about any drugs when it came to Sam. "What drugs? I thought she never used!"

Sherlock looked at him in confusion, before it clicked. "Oh… Oh, that's why you… She never told you."

"Told me what?" John demanded to know. "What didn't she tell me?"

Sherlock hesitated, silently questioning whether he should be the one to tell John, before giving in. "Moriarty took her. The day before I jumped. He drugged her, John, numerous times. He made her addicted to heroin to spite me."

Guilt suddenly ate away at John, who realized now why Sam had looked so malnourished at the gravestone. He knew now what she'd meant about being unable to do anything while up on the roof with Sherlock.

"God… Oh, God, I didn't know…" John breathed out, looking at the restroom door in stunned shock and devastation. "I… I didn't know."

"There's nothing to do about it now." Sherlock sighed out, knowing he needed to have a talk with Sam about what had happened, but with this case in the way, he didn't know when he'd get the chance. "Come here."

John got up and went over to look at the screen Sherlock had playing a video of the tube car that Moran disappeared into.

John frowned. "Yeah, that's… odd. There's nowhere he could have got off."

"Not according to the maps." Sherlock agreed and John hummed. "There's something. Something, _something_ I'm missing. Something staring me in the face, if Sam's hint was as obvious as she's making it."

He turned back to his wall of information, but took out his phone when it went off to look at the photos of Moran that his homeless network caught.

"Any idea who they are? This underground network?" John pressed, though Sherlock didn't answer as he continued to look at the computer screen. "Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones."

"Our rat's just come out of his den." Sherlock murmured, ignored as well.

"Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again. Maybe they're going to make an appearance."

It seemed to click then for Sherlock.

"Yes, yes, yes, _yes_!" He shouted, catching John's attention as the shower stopped. "I've been an idiot. A blind _idiot_!"

"What?"

"Oh, that's good. That could be _brilliant_."

"What are you on about?" John complained, hating when Sherlock got like this and left him out of the loop.

"Mycroft's intelligence. It's not nebulous at all. It's specific. _Incredibly_ specific."

" _What_ do you mean?"

"Finally figure it out?" Sam asked, coming out of the bathroom in a shirt that barely clung to her and made John wince at how slim she was.

"Not an underground network, John." Sherlock said, attempting to clarify what he'd found out. "It's an _underground_ network."

"Right, what?"

Sam sighed. " _Underground_ , John."

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face." Sherlock rattled off, but John was still very lost, so Sherlock went over to replay the footage of the tube; Sam hovering behind him.

"Look. Seven carriages leave Westminster, but only _six_ carriages arrive at St. James Park."

"But that's… I… I-It's impossible."

"Not if you have someplace to ditch the carriage." Sam hummed as Sherlock agreed.

"Moran didn't disappear. The entire tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

"Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations."

"On official maps." Sam chimed. "You need to look at the old stuff. Hint number three."

Sherlock nodded eagerly, but John was still confused about this mess of a case.

"But _why,_ though? Why detach it in the first place?"

Sherlock started pacing. "It vanishes between St. James Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You two are kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks par—" He stopped abruptly and turned to Sam. "The date. What is it?"

"'Remember, remember, the fifth of November'." She chimed and John went pale.

"My God."

"Lord Moran. He's a peer of the realm. Normally, he'd sit in the House. Tonight, there's an all-night sitting to vote on the…" Sherlock looked over at Sam again, wishing he'd seen her hints earlier. "…new anti-terrorism bill, but he won't be there. Not tonight." He smirked. "'Gunpowder treason and plot."

* * *

I felt bad, but had ended up falling asleep on the couch at some point while Sherlock and John went about gathering maps and such to search through for the hidden train station. John had been kind enough to rebandage my red arm after my shower—made brief due to the pain the water caused my burns—but this did very little to stop the nightmares that seemed to continuously pester me.

 _Fire licking at my arm, smoke burning my lungs, choking on air. Gasping, unable to breath, water, a breath, more water, a breath._

 _"Stop it. Stop it. I don't know anything! I won't tell you anything!"_

 _"Oh, but you will, because otherwise… I'll take them from you, Sammy. I'll take everything important from you. Starting with him."_

 _"Sam? Sam, are you alright? God, vomiting again? Why didn't you call me? I was only taking a nap in the other room. I told you, you can wake me up for anything. Why do you have to always fight your battles by yourself? I want to help you. Can't you see that?"_

 _"No. No, Bobbie. You can't. He'll get you, too. I can't let him get you."_

 _"Too late~"_

 _Gun shots, pain, shouting, screaming._

 _"Bobbie! Bobbie! Let me see him! Please! Please, he's my boyfriend!"_

 _Laughter, echoing laughter. A detective rising from examining the body. Sherlock._

 _"He's dead, Sam. And it's all your fault."_

 _"You killed him!" John shouted. "You killed him!"_

 _"No! No! I-I didn't! It wasn't my fault! Please! Please, just give him back! Bobbie!"_

"Sam!"

I sat upright, gasping for air, and shivering despite the sweat that was dripping down my back.

"Sam, are you alright?"

I looked over to see John giving me a worried look, and I almost did it. I almost blurted out everything, but I caught myself just in time and clenched my teeth with a nod.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm fine. It was nothing, honestly."

"But Sam—"

"Did you two finish?" I cut him off, not wanting to talk about it. "Did you find the station?"

He, thankfully, dropped the subject and nodded. "Yeah. Sherlock told me to wake you up. He's already waiting with a cab downstairs."

I nodded, getting up and cringing immediately at the fire burning in my shoulder, but not stopping. _I won't ever be able to stop_. "Right. Just let me grab my shoes and coat. I'll be right there."

There was silence for a minute as I tied my shoes, before he spoke again.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

I laced my other boot and got up, grabbing my coat from the coat rack. "No, but neither are you."

I felt a little bad for those words, but if he was going to question me, then he'd better expect to get some questions back; if not from me, then from Sherlock. I wasn't about to break so easily. I wasn't like before. And despite the itch in the crook of my elbow and the ache in my chest for a cigarette, I continued forward, just as I always had; ever since Bobbie was killed.

The ride towards the station was relatively quiet, as was the walk down into the station up until John spoke.

"So, it's a bomb then? A tube carriage is carrying a bomb."

"Must be." Sherlock hummed, glancing again at me, though I kept my gaze straight ahead; not wanting to give him hints or confuse him.

"Right."

John took off his glove and pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock questioned.

"Calling the police."

"What? No!"

John made a face as though he knew Sherlock was going to stop him. "Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament."

"They get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient." Sherlock argued, moving to a locked maintenance gate and pulling a crowbar from his coat.

"And illegal." John commented.

"A bit."

"Put it this way, John." I added to their argument. "If the police get called, the media will find out about Parliament being evacuated over a bomb threat. Moran is watching the television right now. If he sees the evac starting, he'll set the bombs off earlier; adding to the body count. Calling the police _before_ we find and disarm the bombs could be problematic."

"I…" He stopped, looking at me in surprise as I raised a brow at his dumbfounded expression. "I didn't think of that."

"Hm." I hummed as we moved into the tunnels and pulled out torches.

It was a bit of a walk to the abandoned Sumatra Road station, but once there, Sherlock frowned at the lack of a tube carriage.

"I don't understand."

"Well, that's a first." John scoffed.

"There's nowhere else it could be."

"It's too open." I mused, giving him a bit of a hint.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, rushing to the end of the station platform and hopping down with John lagging behind as I followed.

"Hang on, Sherlock?"

"What?"

"That's…" John looked at the tracks at Sherlock's and my feet. "Isn't it live?"

"Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails." Sherlock replied, bounding off down the tunnel and I sighed as I picked up my pace; John complaining behind us.

"Course, yeah. Avoid the rails. Great."

"This way."

"You sure?"

"Sure!" I chimed back, answering for Sherlock.

We didn't have to go far before we found the carriage and John chuckled.

"Ha, look at that."

"John." Sherlock said, catching his attention and aiming his torch up into the vent above us to reveal more explosives.

"Demolition charges."

We moved towards the carriage and before Sherlock and John could get absorbed in checking the outside of the carriage, I opened the door and climbed in the back.

"It's inside."

When John looked around to see an empty carriage though, I sighed loudly.

"No, John. It's not empty. I assure you. Just need to look harder."

I moved in front and reached out, pulling a couple of wires to their attention. Sherlock was quick to understand.

"This is the bomb."

"What?" John questioned and Sherlock went and lifted up a seat cushion as I released the wires and watched.

"It's not _carrying_ explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb."

We pulled up more and more cushions until Sherlock found the compartment in the floor with the main detonator and I felt a chill go down my spine. While I had acted rather uncaring up until this point, the sight of the actual bomb bothered me and reminded me that—even though I knew how things went in the show—I was not immortal. I did not know everything. I knew _nothing_ concerning my own personal safety, nor how my mere presence could change how things ended. For all I knew, I could die here and now. We _all_ could. I sucked in a sharp breath between my teeth and closed my eyes momentarily; fighting to ignore the mocking laughter of Moriarty from my memories and how helpless I was when it came to what happened with Bobbie. I let out a long sigh and opened my eyes as John and Sherlock began discussing what could be done about the bomb in the floor.

"We need bomb disposal." John murmured.

"There may not be time for that now."

"So, what do we do?"

Sherlock looked down then back up. "I have no idea."

John obviously doubted that. "Well, think of something."

"Why do you think I know what to do?" Sherlock argued as I remained silent for now.

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets."

"Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?"

"I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor."

"And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all." Sherlock countered, pointing his light at John, who was growing nervous as he looked down at the time displayed on the bomb.

"C-Can't we rip the timer off, or something?"

"That would set it off."

"You see? You _know_ things." John replied, raising his voice and Sherlock turned away with a heavy sigh.

 _And lights_. I mentally hummed, glancing up just as the lights came on and the timer started. My throat tightened in concern as I silently reassured myself that everything would be fine. Sherlock knew what he was doing. _And if not, then I do. I just need to keep my head until the right time._

"Uh…"

"My God!" John exclaimed as Sherlock paced, moaning in confusion.

"Uh…"

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"Please, just…"

"Why do you _never_ call the police?!" John shouted.

"Well, it's no use now." Sherlock countered, finally getting the words to do so.

The timer hit 2:15.

"So you _can't_ switch the bomb off. You _can't_ switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police." John turned away in exasperation and turned back again; giving Sherlock the chance to try and shoo him off.

"Go, John. Go, now." He said, pointing at the only way out.

A part of me swelled proudly at John's expression, the loyalty, as the timer hit 1:57.

"There's no point now, is there? Because there's not enough time to get away and if we don't do this, other people will die!... Mind palace." John declared, pointing at Sherlock.

"Hm?"

"Use your mind palace."

"How will _that_ help?" Sherlock questioned.

 _Doing far too good of a job acting in this. I'm actually glad they've sort of forgotten I'm here. I'm not going to like how they react once they remember though._

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!"

"Oh, and you think I've just got 'How to Defuse a Bomb' tucked away in there somewhere?!"

" _Yes_!"

Sherlock stared, before giving in. "Maybe."

"Think." John breathed out desperately. "Think. Please, think. _Think_!"

"Ah!" Sherlock shouted coming out of his so-called 'mind palace' and giving John an apologetic look.

"Oh my God."

Sherlock took off his scarf and John turned away, finally spotting me standing not far behind him as Sherlock crouched to the floor.

"Wait… Wait, Sam!" He rushed over and grabbed me tightly by my shoulders, making me cringe slightly. "Sam, you know what's going on. You can stop the bomb!"

 _And here it is. The part I've been dreading since Sherlock dragged me into this mess. God, what do I tell him?_

"J-John, I… I don't—"

John's gaze sharpened dangerously, making me remember what happened back at Sherlock's grave. "I don't _care_ about whatever's holding you back, Sam. If you know how to defuse the bomb, then you better damn well do it, because this isn't about some stupid plot anymore. This is about lives! Actual, _human_ lives! And if that matters to you at _all_ , then you better damn well stop the bomb, _right now_!"

I flinched back at his shout, clenching my fists at my sides before looking past him at Sherlock. The man stared at me back silently from the ground, and I didn't like what his expression was telling me. _He wants me to go along with it. God, he wants me to go along with lying to John about this mess so he can get forgiveness. But what about me, you moron?!_ I felt my nails dig into my palms before I looked back at John in fear and concern.

"I-I don't remember, John."

"What?" He breathed out, before shaking me by the shoulders. "What do you _mean_ you don't remember?!"

I grit my teeth, trying to not shout and add fuel to the rage John was spitting out. "My memory's not perfect. It's been over two years. I can't remember every little thing that—"

"Little?! This is far from little! How the _hell_ do you forget how to disarm the bomb?!" John shouted back. "God, you're bloody useless!"

Those words cut into me like knives as he finally released me and turned away; pulling a hand through his hair. That was the one thing that had a hunted me the most these last few years around Sherlock. Ever since I'd ended up in this timeline, the one thing I never wanted to be was useless, and yet, here I was. Here I was being told to my face how useless I was and—despite my actually _knowing_ how to stop the bomb—a deep part of me knew John was right. What had I done since Sherlock's return? I hadn't been of any help. I fought with him, got kidnapped, and slept through everything of some importance. Hell, before Sherlock's fake death, I felt I was useless to him and John. Having John tell me to my face though, that finally seemed to clench it.

I glared at Sherlock when I saw he was looking at me with an expression I didn't like. I was hurt and he knew that, but I did it for him. So, I hoped he was happy. He'll end up being forgiven, but I might never will.

"I'm sorry." He breathed out, though looking at me, I believed him to have been speaking with John; who responded.

"What?"

Sherlock turned to John as I sat in one of the seats, slumping over and running my shaking hands through my hair as I listened to Sherlock's act playing out before me.

"I can't… I can't do it, John. I don't know how. Forgive me?"

"What?" John questioned again, voice tight and making me lift my gaze from my feet.

"Please, John. Forgive me… for all the hurt that I caused you."

"No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick." John said then, waving a finger at him.

"No."

"Another one of your bloody tricks."

"No."

"You're just trying to make me say something nice." John pressed, but Sherlock chuckled bitterly.

"Not this time."

"It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like…" John glanced at me and I stared back solemnly for a moment before looking away, playing into Sherlock's act still, despite everything; making him believe this wasn't a trick.

John sucked in a breath and turned away, trying to get a hold of himself as he gripped one of the grab rails beside him tightly.

"I wanted you not to be dead." He spat.

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for." Sherlock replied softly as John sighed. "If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and… you'd still have a future… with Mary."

"Yeah, I know." John said, gesturing at him briefly, before managing to get the words he wanted to say, out. "Look. I find it difficult. I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."

"I know." Sherlock replied back and John blew out a breath, straightening.

"You were the best and the wisest man… that I have ever known." John lowered his head and raised it again. "Yes, of _course_ , I forgive you."

"And Sam?"

The air seemed to tense all over again as John shifted and turned to look at me. Unable to hide the shame that welled up in me, I looked away, feeling as though I was once again intruding on a moment between the two. That, and I really didn't want to hear John say those words.

"This isn't her fault, John." Sherlock pressed and a part of me hated that he was trying to change John's mind. "Not this bomb, not our previous cases, and not my death. Even if she had told us—"

"Lives would have been _saved_." John muttered, making my fists tighten.

"Lives would have been _lost_." Sherlock argued. "If anything, we owe it to her that we were even able to get this far. If she had never hinted to us possible solutions, if she hadn't taken those drugs before my death—"

 _What? When did John find out about that? Did Sherlock…_

"—then I might very well have _stayed_ dead. Any number of things could have happened, and her leaving out some minor information that we shouldn't even be privy to in the first place, has helped us."

John scoffed, though there was a bit of hesitation to it. "Says the man who had been about ready to throw her in jail for it."

"Yes, I'll admit, I wasn't thinking… rationally, but we've seen proof. Haven't we, John? She has always been loyal to us. You know that."

John paused, before letting out a long sigh. "Yes. Yes, I know that, but I'm not going to forgive her."

I grit my teeth, but he continued.

"If anything, I should be begging for _her_ to forgive _me_."

I looked up slowly, cautiously, unsure whether I had heard things right, but John was giving me a small smile.

"I owe you for saving this idiot, after all." He managed to joke, though immediately looked apologetic. "And for the yelling earlier… especially the funeral. I'm really sorry, Sam."

"N-No. I, um…" I tried to think of something to say, a small amount of hope trickling through me. "I should have explained things better or… or something. Although…" I glanced over at Sherlock, who was already beginning to shake with suppressed laughter. "…you might want to hold back on the forgiving."

John furrowed his brows, confused, before he heard Sherlock and saw where I was looking; turning to the man as he managed to speak and spotting the flickering timer on the bomb.

"Oh, you're face!"

"You… _utter_ …"

"Your face!"

"You…"

Sherlock stood and continued to laugh. "I totally had you."

"You _cock_! I knew it! I knew it!" John turned to me. "And you were in on it!"

I held up my hands. "Sorry. It really needed to happen. I swear."

He didn't look pleased by that response, but I was feeling a bit better about this mess.

"Oh, those things you said. Such sweet things." Sherlock rambled on with a grin. "I never knew you cared."

John turned back to him with a glare. "I _will_ kill you if you ever breathe word of this..."

Sherlock held up a Boy Scout's salute. "Scout's honor."

"…to _anyone_. You _knew_!" John shouted as Sherlock knelt to the bomb. "You knew how to turn it off."

"There's an 'off' switch."

"What?" John seemed a little shocked at the simplicity of that so Sherlock pointed it out to him as he knelt to look.

"There's _always_ an 'off' switch. Terrorists can get into all _sorts_ of problems unless there's an 'off' switch."

"So why did you two let me go through all that?" John snarled.

"I didn't lie altogether… I've absolutely _no_ idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off." Sherlock teased, wiping stray tears from his previous laughter. "And don't blame Sam for this. As I said, she's always loyal to us."

"To a fault." John grumbled, though he didn't seem too angry with _me_ , anyway.

We could hear voices and walkie-talkies now and John gestured to the door.

"And you did call the police."

" _Sam_ called the police, but yes. Course we did."

"I'm definitely going to kill you." John threatened and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please. Killing me. That's so two years ago."

He smiled at John, who managed a small smile back and even a short laugh before Sherlock moved to leave and called over his shoulder.

"Come along, Sam."

 _Oh, how I missed those words. I sighed in the back of my head as I stood and went to trail after them._

* * *

Sherlock walked to his bedroom, knowing that Sam was inside, and knocked on the door frame to get her attention. She was buttoning up the last few buttons on a dress shirt and her hair was still slightly damp from the shower she'd practically sprinted into this morning. It had been another nightmare, Sherlock knew. It seemed nearly every morning she was either in the shower recovering or attempting to forget it with a heavy jog. And now he'd had enough.

"Sam. I wish to speak with you about something."

Sam turned to him with that expression that grated his nerves so much. That blank, tired, haunted look. Then she turned back to her bed to pick up her coat.

"Make it quick, if you could. I've got a case."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm sure the missing dog could wait."

Sam frowned at him, but continued to pull on her coat. "Even a small dog can travel up to twenty-five miles in eight hours. I'll need all the time I can get, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't really care, and knew he had other things to worry about than letting her get on with her 'case'.

"I wish to know what happened the two years I was missing."

Sam paused in tying her shoes, but didn't look up as she soon continued. "Read a paper. The ones I could get are in the corner of the living room with the rest of them."

"What happened with _you_." He clarified and she glanced up before bending down the grab her other shoe.

"I already told you I don't want to talk about it."

"I do."

She frowned at him and stood, making to head past him and out the door, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Sam, we need to talk about this."

"Why?"

Sherlock frowned. "What?"

Sam whipped around to glare at him. " _Why_ do we need to talk about this? What happened to me isn't any of your concern, just as what happened to you is none of my business. So why is digging up things I'd much rather forget seem to suddenly be the top priority for you?"

Sherlock decided then that if she wanted to do this the hard way, he'd be more than happy to oblige.

"Because _this_ needs to stop." He snapped in return, gesturing to her. "When was the last time you were able to sleep properly? _Eat_ properly? You are a completely different person from who you were, Sam, and I want to know what happened to cause this."

"It doesn't matter!"

"It does to me!" He shouted in return, silencing her, trying to calm himself down. "Sam, believe it or not, but you're important to me and I care about you just as I care about John. So, seeing you waste away your talents on missing _dog_ cases, seeing you get only a few hours of sleep only to be startled awake by memories of whatever happened… If you just _talked_ about it—"

Sam cut him off. "Talk about it? What the hell is talking going to do? Better yet, when was the last time _you_ talked to anyone about _your_ problems, Sherlock? You were tortured in Tibet and you don't think _that_ deserves some discussing?"

Sherlock winced, not liking Sam dredging up the memory of that. "That's different. No one would understand—"

Sam laughed bitterly. "Really? That's your excuse? Can't talk about it because no one understands what it's like to be tortured? Oh, wait! Didn't I have a point where I was tortured with Moriarty? Oh, guess that doesn't count does it, since I'm just some kid to you. I'm not clever enough to keep up or some other nonsense, is that it?"

"No!" Sherlock argued, annoyed with how Sam kept twisting his words around. "I'm different than you, Sam! I don't need that kind of support and—"

"Oh! So, you don't need John or I? Is that it?"

"No!" He raked a hand through his hair. "I compartmentalize things! I'm able to lock things up and forget about them! And perhaps I should talk things over with you and John more, but Tibet is something I'm trying to forget about!"

"And I'm trying to forget about what happened too!" She snapped back, voice tight as she brought a hand to her head. "God, why can't you just let this _go_? I have it relive it every night, isn't that enough for you?"

"I… I want to help." Sherlock begrudgingly admitted. "Anything, Sam. I'll play for you at night like before. I'll eat with you at breakfast, if I must. However, I want to know what happened. I want to fix things and I can't do that if you won't let me in."

Sam took a deep breath in and let it out, looking up at him seriously. "Then let _me_ in."

Sherlock hesitated.

"Let me in, Sherlock. I don't care what you want to talk about. Tibet, your family, Moriarty, whatever. But if I'm going to tell you what happened to me, I expect you to do the same."

"Will you allow me to know about your foreknowledge as well?" He questioned.

"What I can give you, yes, but then I want to be more involved in cases. If you decide to do something stupid, no pushing me aside. I'm going with you."

Sherlock's hunched shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded. "Very well. Some restrictions?"

"What?" She asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Nothing drug related. I'm able to cope with the urges better should I relapse for whatever reason, but I'm not willing to put you at the risk of following me down that path should a case lead to it."

Sam shivered, but nodded. "Yes, that's fine."

Sherlock hummed, shifting out of the way. "A bar then?"

Sam snorted. "Sorry. I've got a dog to catch. Here though, is fine. I expect some good scotch though. I know. Tell your brother that if he'll get us some good stuff, I'll go with your parents to ' _Les Mis'_. It's been a while."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he pushed open the door to the flat to let her out, but agreed. "Very well."

"I'll see you tonight though, Sherlock." She said heavily with a soft sigh. "We've got a _long_ talk."


	22. Chapter 22

**Sorry it's short. Wanted to get 'The Bloody Guardsman' all in one chapter...**

* * *

Mrs. Hudson smiled pleasantly as she heard the sound of Sherlock's violin drifting down from upstairs as she brought up his morning tea. What she didn't expect was to see him dancing by himself.

"Shut up, Mrs. Hudson." He said just as she entered the room.

"I haven't said a word." She said back, keeping her voice down as she spotted Sam asleep on the couch nearby.

"You're formulating a question. It's physically painful watching you thinking." Sherlock replied dully as he moved to the radio that was playing.

"I thought it was you playing."

"It _was_ me playing." He said, turning it off and gesturing to the iPod docked into it as he made a note on some music sheets. "I am composing."

"You were _dancing_." Mrs. Hudson teased, setting down the tray and fixing up Sherlock's tea as he flopped into his chair and glanced briefly at Sam.

"I was road-testing. A partner would have been preferable; however, Sam was having difficulties sleeping and only got to sleep a few hours ago."

"Poor dear." Mrs. Hudson murmured, before Sherlock returned his gaze to her.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm bringing you your morning tea." She replied with a smile. "You're not usually awake, though Sam isn't either, but she at least appreciates it."

"You bring me tea in the morning?" Sherlock questioned as though she hadn't just said she did.

"Well, where did you _think_ it came from?"

"I don't know." He hummed. "I just thought it sort of _happened_."

"Your mother has a lot to answer for." She chided him, passing him his tea.

"Mm, I know. I have a list… Mycroft has a file."

Mrs. Hudson chuckled and plopped down in John's chair. "So, it's the big day then!"

"What big day?" Sherlock questioned, knowing full well what she was talking about, but not really caring.

"The wedding! John and Mary getting married!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday and then carry on living together. What's big about that?"

"It changes people, marriage."

"Mm, no it doesn't." He argued.

"Well, you wouldn't understand 'cause you always live alone." She quipped back, causing Sherlock to make a face. "You're lucky Sam came back here, anyway. Though I'd say _she_ was the lucky one. Ever since you came back, she's gotten a little… happier."

Sherlock frowned. "Happier? Really?"

"Ever since a few months ago, yes. I don't know what you two did that night, but you left the room a mess! Bottles everywhere. There was a stain in the floor that took _ages_ to get out!" She scolded him, but sighed and relaxed. "She's much more relaxed now though. She always looked so tense before."

Smith hopped up into her lap then and she happily scratched him behind the ears.

Sherlock attempted to change the subject. "Your husband was executed for double murder. You're hardly an advert for companionship."

Mrs. Hudson didn't look bothered by his jab. "Marriage changes you as a person, in ways that you can't imagine."

"As does lethal injection." He countered with a smirk.

"My best friend, Margaret. She was my chief bridesmaid." She started and Sherlock rolled his eyes, seeing the story that was about to drag on from her. "We were going to be best friends forever, we always said that; but I hardly saw her after that."

He got up and moved to the door. "Aren't there usually biscuits?"

"I've run out."

"Have the shops?" He urged, but she ignored him and continued on.

"She cried the whole day, saying 'ooh, it's the end of an era'."

"I'm sure the shop on the corner is open." Sherlock pressed once more.

"She was probably right, really." She ignored him as he grimaced in annoyance. "I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad."

"Mm, anyway, you've got things to do."

"No, not really. I've got plenty of time to—"

" _Biscuits_." Sherlock hissed and she hurried up out of the chair and scuttled out the door.

"I really am going to have a word with your mother."

"You can if you like. She understands very little." Sherlock quipped back, shutting the door behind her and sighing.

He looked over at John's chair then, expression shifting, before a voice surprised him.

"Your face is going to get stuck that way if you're not careful."

He rolled his eyes at Sam's comment. "A scientific impossibility."

He glanced over at her form on the couch and frowned at her arm draped over her eyes and her slightly quivering hands.

"Nightmare?" He questioned, looking away as she hummed.

"Didn't get far, thanks to your sending Mrs. Hudson for biscuits. How long do I have till the wedding?"

"About an hour. Unless you are leaving with me, then half an hour."

"Mm, an hour it is then. I need to shower." She grumbled, sitting up and wincing as she rubbed at her neck.

"You should have moved to John's bed." Sherlock commented, heading towards his—newly reclaimed—bedroom.

"I already told you why that's not happening." She replied, grabbing a bag set off to the side and ducking into the bathroom. "See you at the wedding."

He grunted, suspicious about the bag, but shook it off as he went to get changed himself. The discussion a few months back between him and Sam had gone better than he expected. They had both managed to share a few things that had been settling on their minds at the time, as well as sort out how things were going to be back at Backer Street and on cases since they were _both_ around for good. Sam would get his more minor cases to work on with the occasional consultation with him about more twisted factors. They would _both_ work on the major cases together and with John, when they could get him too. The flat was once again under Sherlock's name, though Sam paid the rent for her half and had moved into John's old bedroom, though she still slept in his bed on more than one occasion. So long as he wasn't in need of it, he gave her free reign. She slept on the couch typically though, especially when she was out late on cases or if she couldn't sleep.

The nightmares were still there for her, which Sherlock attempted to help with via violin playing, but they were happening less frequently. He discovered they happened more often during times of stress for her, however it was hard for him to find the direct cause of said stress. Her foreknowledge was a part of it; though there had been less of her predictions as well, which she waved off without comment when he asked. The other part of her stress were the occasional triggers that reminded her of what had happened. It was hard for Sherlock to look at her, at times. Not for the reasons she suspected, which was typically along the line of him not being used to emotional people and therefore, not wanting to deal with _her_ emotions. It was more of him not wanting to deal with his _own_ emotions.

What happened to Bobbie had changed Sam a great deal. _The death of a loved one_ had changed her, and seeing how bad the damage was first-hand, bothered Sherlock. When he had faked his death, he hadn't had to deal with anyone immediately afterward. No one who wasn't clued in, anyway. He had seen the aftermath with John, sure, but this was very fresh for Sam. She was hurting in ways Sherlock never experienced or had been witness to. Sure, he'd dealt with crying widows and such in his cases, but this was someone close to him who was suffering. Suffering terribly and he could find nothing to fix it. This was a problem _impossible_ for Sherlock to solve and it ate away at him every time he was witness to a piece of Sam's grief.

He was trying to assist. His helping her sleep and take on some of his cases was a part of that, but it felt as though it wasn't enough. He wanted—No, _needed_ to do something more for her, but what? He frowned as that thought floated in his head as he finished adjusting his tie and went downstairs to meet with the cab taking him to the wedding. He paused briefly to glance up at the window, but let out a sigh and drove off to see his best friend get married.

* * *

Sherlock scowled, not pleased at all. Despite him having texted Sam multiple times, the wedding ceremony was already over and he'd yet to spot her. It was annoying, mostly because he _knew_ she was there somewhere, but _where_ had yet to be determined. Already, he had been accosted by the bridesmaid, whom he was amusing by assisting her in finding someone other than him for a fling.

"He's nice." She hummed, eyeing a waiter that just dropped off some canapés with Mary.

Sherlock inhaled and grimaced. "Traces of _two_ leading brands of deodorant, both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odor problem manifesting under stress." He rattled off and Janine also wrinkled her nose.

"Okay, done there. What about his friend?"

Sherlock followed her gaze, skimming those faces he passed in search of Sam's before landing on another waiter pulling a skewer from a roast.

"Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat."

"Seriously?"

Sherlock resisted a sigh. He'd promised John and Mary he'd be well-behaved. Sam as well, but seeing as she wasn't even _here_ …

"Waterproof cover on his smartphone. Yet, his complexion doesn't indicate outdoor work. Suggests he's in the habit of taking his phone into the shower with him, which means he often receives texts and emails he'd rather went unseen."

Janine smiled and moved slightly closer to Sherlock, much to his displeasure. "Can I keep you?"

"Do you like solving crimes?" He questioned back idly, hoping to dissuade her.

"Do you have a vacancy?"

He resisted a grimace as she smirked, but she soon excused herself to grab a drink and Sherlock shifted towards where Mary was; John having gone off to salute a man in military attire who'd just walked in.

"So, that's him: Major Sholto." Sherlock commented and Mary nodded with a grin.

"Uh-huh."

Sherlock frowned, getting more annoyed with how John seemed to be drifting further and further away from him.

"If they're just good friends, why does he barely ever mention him?"

"He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him." Mary mused.

"About _him_?"

"Mm-hm." She sipped her wine and then grimaced. "Ugh, I chose this wine. It's bloody awful."

"Yes, but it's definitely _him_ that he talks about?" Sherlock pressed and Mary couldn't help but smile a bit.

"Mm-hm."

"I've never even heard him say his name."

"Well, he's almost a recluse. You know, since…"

"Yes." Sherlock said, understanding that she was talking about the man's scars and reputation.

"I didn't think he'd show up at all. John says he's the most unsociable man he's ever met."

" _He_ is? _He's_ the most unsociable?"

Mary hummed.

"Ah, _that's_ why he's bouncing 'round him like a puppy."

Mary grinned and hugged Sherlock's arm. "Oh, Sherlock. Neither of us were the first, you know. Besides, the way John talked about Sam, makes it sound like she did the same around you."

Sherlock puffed up proudly at that, before his frown returned and he looked down at Mary. "Where is she? I didn't see her at the ceremony."

Mary blinked, confused. "You didn't—Oh!" She smirked devilishly. "Oh, of course you didn't."

Mary looked around the reception and started to frown as well.

"Is she hiding again? Here. Give me your phone." She said, holding out her hand and Sherlock paused.

"Why don't you use yours?"

Mary gave him a look. "Does it _look_ like I have pockets?"

Seeing his error, Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away as he handed her his cell phone and her beaming smile returned.

"Stop smiling."

"It's my wedding day!" She replied playfully, before Sam must have picked up. "Sam, it's Mary. Now, you best stop hiding away wherever you are. Come out here, or I'll hunt you down myself... What?" Mary glanced at Sherlock, who raised a brow. "No, Sherlock's not with me. Yes, yes. Now come on."

She hung up and passed the phone to Sherlock, who gave her a look.

"She asked if I was with you?"

Mary nodded. "You'd think she'd be a bit clever, seeing as I was calling from your phone, but yes. She asked if you were with me and I lied."

She grinned and Sherlock went to question her as to why Sam would ask about him, but he didn't get the chance.

"Mary, I don't know _how_ you convinced me to do this, but I'll have you know, I hate every _damn_ sec… ond…"

Sherlock blinked in surprise at the figure that had come their way, while Mary smirked devilishly beside him. The young woman had Sam's voice, but looked almost nothing like her. Her short hair was done up in a fauxhawk, as per norm, but it somehow made her look even more feminine than usual when combined with the light makeup on her face and the slim dark violet dress. Her complexion immediately turned a vibrant shade of embarrassed red and she turned to Mary with a hiss.

"You told me you weren't with him!"

Mary continued to grin, unbothered by her snappish tone. "And you, apparently, weren't clever enough to notice I used _his_ phone."

Sam groaned and Mary chuckled, patting her shoulder and walking off with a wave over her shoulder.

"I'll just leave you two to it then!"

"That woman's going to be the death of me." Sam grumbled under her breath, glaring at Mary's back before looking back at Sherlock, who had yet to move. "Sorry, were you, um… looking for me?"

Sherlock blinked, drawing himself from his trance. "You weren't answering my texts."

Sam's muscles tensed. "Sorry."

His brows furrowed though. "But you answered Mary when she called with my phone. Why?"

Sam closed her eyes for a moment and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, only to put the hand back at her side; resisting the urge that could potentially ruin her makeup. "You don't _call_. You always text, so why would I avoid a call while knowing it's not… Dear God, I did it again. Gah, I'm such an idiot! I need to just shut _up_." She scolded herself, realizing what she'd just given up.

"You were avoiding my texts." Sherlock said, a little annoyed and confused. "Why?"

He spotted her flexing her hand, resisting another urge— _probably to pull it through her hair_ —as she hefted out another long sigh and begrudgingly explained.

"Because of this." She gestured to herself. "Mary somehow convinced me to wear it, saying things about how it's her wedding so I have to. Or it would look cute, and other nonsense. I-I couldn't just say no, knowing that she wouldn't let up unless I did. So, I wore it and I hate every minute of it, but it's better than having her guilt trip me later." She paused, a frown marring her features. "Though I'm starting to believe otherwise."

Sherlock was still confused. "But you were avoiding me. _Specifically,_ me."

"No! No, not _specifically_ you." Sam corrected, wincing and lowering her voice as she saw some eyes turn towards them. "I was avoiding _everyone_ , Sherlock. It's bad enough getting stares from those who _don't_ know me, but think about it. Mrs. Hudson? She would go _nuts_ if she spotted me like this. And Lestrade? And Molly? And John? I hate being the center of attention and Mary just made me that. I barely managed to convince Mary not to make me the official bridesmaid, but I would honestly like to just head back to the flat now, if it weren't for the fact I know she would hunt me down and drag me back."

Sherlock wasn't entirely convinced that she hadn't been avoiding _him_ specifically, but he would find out about that later. Already he could see her anxiety beginning to show. Between the crowded room and her outfit, she was obviously uncomfortable, though he was surprised she was showing it so openly. It bothered him, and he couldn't figure out why.

"I'm going to get a drink." Sam grumbled. "Or five."

Sherlock grabbed her arm though, stopping her and fighting to ignore the tingle that went up his arm at the action. "You look… nice."

She stopped and blinked, before what he said seemed to click in her head and her cheeks flamed a bright red. "U-Um… T-Thanks?"

He struggled to say something else, his mind suddenly not wanting to provide words to stop her from leaving. Why _do I want her to stay?_

"Are you going to be sitting up with John and I later?"

She nodded hesitantly. "Yes. Mary wouldn't budge on that."

"I see." He released her, having nothing else to really say, but she didn't leave just yet.

"Sherlock." She looked back at him and he felt his spine straighten automatically at the look in her eyes. "This wedding isn't going to go as planned."

"What do you mean?" He questioned seriously.

He never liked it when Sam brought up something serious like this. It never meant anything good, especially when her foreknowledge was involved; which it typically was.

"I can't say anything specific and I wish there could have been something done earlier…" She trailed off and Sherlock's frown deepened.

She was upset about something. Something she had missed, or hadn't prevented. And that key word was there too, which bothered Sherlock. _'Earlier'_. _How much earlier? What did she mean by earlier? An earlier case? Something she could have done earlier to prevent this now? Planning earlier?_ Too many questions raced through his mind as Sam sighed and went on.

"Just keep an eye out. It'll be like the taxi case." She said, alerting him immediately that something potentially dangerous would happen here at the wedding. "And _don't_ react to what I'm saying now. Too early, and you'll tip them off."

"Hints?" He asked hesitantly, knowing from their previous talk how she felt about giving things away.

" _It's a lot of pressure, Sherlock. You have to understand that. It's me desperately trying to find something to give you, when every little tidbit could cause a huge change in the future. It's not easy and it's_ me _that that falls on. Any error, is my fault. Even if it's something small, because just my being here with you and John screws things up. My existence changes everything, so please understand that when you ask for a hint, I might not be able to give you one. Even if I desperately want to."_

"I have three." She said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter and downing it in a way that made them both grimace. "Listen to Archie."

"Archie?" Sherlock questioned and she nodded.

"That kid who likes the murder photos. You'd be surprised." She hummed, reaching up again to try and pass her hand through her hair, only to flinch and rub the back of her neck. "Your second hint is that this has to do with a past case. A recent past case, but don't beat yourself up over it, because it wouldn't have been possible for you to fix back then."

"But you could have." He accused and she winced.

"Yes, and I hate that I didn't, but there was nothing I could have done that wouldn't have ruined today for someone." She said, looking at him and searching his gaze for understanding, to which he nodded.

"And the third?"

"It has nothing to do with this case. The third hint." She said then, making him frown in confusion.

"Then what—"

"It _does_ , however…" She cut him off and looked him right in the eyes. "…have to do with our old bonfire friend."

Sherlock straightened in surprise, remembering that she had mentioned that coming back into the light sooner or later. "Now?"

She shook her head. "No. Still a ways away, but… something will startle Mary when you go reading the telegrams. Pay attention to the signer. Now, go phone your brother. Interrupt his workout session and tell him I said he's not fat." She waved off, making Sherlock snort and shake his head as she moved towards the open bar.

He couldn't help but watch her go though. "Hm."

* * *

Sherlock wasn't nervous. Sherlock didn't _get_ nervous. And yet, here he was preparing to do his duty as the best man, with a stutter on his lips. I couldn't help but smirk into my champagne glass in amusement as John looked my way in a vain attempt to get me to help him unstick Sherlock. I finally mouthed 'telegrams' to John, who shook his head and said it out loud, getting Sherlock's attention.

"Right, um…" Sherlock pat his pockets before I reached out and tapped the top of the pile in front of him. "Thank you."

I gave a small nod as John cleared his throat to get him going and Sherlock did the same.

"First thing's first. Telegrams." He waved the pile at the guests. "Well, they're not actually telegrams. We just _call_ them telegrams. I don't know why. Wedding tradition… because we don't have enough of that already, apparently."

"You're rambling." I murmured and he shot me a glare before reading the first telegram.

"'To Mr and Mrs Watson. So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford'."

"Ah, Mike." John hummed and Mary hummed as well as Sherlock moved onto the next card.

"'To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big'..." He cut himself off and grimaced before continuing. "…'big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted'."

I spotted Lestrade chuckle and Molly's grin that matched my own.

"'Mary. Lots of love'…" He heaved a sigh as John and Mary looked up at him in curiosity. "…'poppet'…"

Mary giggled now, giving me an amused look as I resisted the urge to snort at Sherlock's embarrassment.

"…'Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes, from CAM. Wish your family could have seen this'."

Mary's smile faltered, as did mine, and Sherlock gave me a brief glance at that before slipping the telegram into his pocket and quickly speeding through the rest of them.

"Um, 'special day'… 'very special day'… 'love', 'love', 'love', 'love', 'lo—', bit of a theme. You get the general gist. People are basically _fond_."

The guests chuckled lightly, not noticing Mary's slightly uncomfortable expression that John was trying to soothe, and Sherlock went on.

"John Watson. My friend, John Watson. John." He looked over at John and then back to the guests. "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused. I confess at first I didn't realize he was asking me. When finally, I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and... surprised. I explained to him that I'd never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was—for me—as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he'd placed in me..."

I glanced at John, whose brows were furrowed in confusion and I waited with a small smile on my face for the punchline.

"…and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being... moved by it. It later transpired that I had said _none_ of this out loud."

The group laughed at that and before Sherlock could go scrambling through his notes to find his place, I slid my napkin towards him where I'd written out a hint.

 _Congratulate._

 _Talk about John._

He subtly nodded and cleared his throat, though I spotted John raising a brow as I tugged my napkin back.

"I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you."

I resisted a sigh as I rolled my eyes and a stunned John and Mary looked up at him.

"All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world." He rattled on. "Today we honor the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time—one feels certain—our entire species."

I cleared my throat this time and tapped my napkin where I'd underlined a bit.

 _Talk about John._

"But anyway…" Sherlock glanced around, seeing the uncomfortable guests. "Let's talk about John."

"Please." John breathed out and Sherlock pulled out his cards for his notes.

I couldn't help him with this bit, after all.

"If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice. It is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me." Sherlock said and I grit my teeth to keep from dropping my face into my hand. "Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides."

John was less strict with himself, and let out a sigh as Mary frowned.

"It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favor exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel; and contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it _would_ be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot."

John shot me a look to stop him, but I waved him off, mouthing a short 'wait for it'.

"The point I'm _trying_ to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous…" He glanced at me, surprisingly, making me almost choke on my drink as he turned to Mary and John. "…unaware of the beautiful… and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So, if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend. Certainly, not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing."

Mary smiled proudly at John and a number of the guests cooed at the speech.

"John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion." He looked down a second, before looking back up and smiling. "Actually, now I _can_."

The couple smiled as the crowd did much the same and Sherlock looked at the bride.

"Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss." He leaned closer to John. "So sorry again about that last one." He muttered, straightening as John chuckled a little. "So know this. Today, you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. Sam included, of course." He tacked on. "And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will _never_ let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

Guests were sniffling now, getting emotional and even John looked about ready to tackle Sherlock in a hug.

"If I try to hug him, stop me."

"Certainly not." Mary replied back and as I spotted Sherlock making to do the next card, I kicked him lightly under the table.

He turned to me with a frown at the action, but I tipped my head towards the guests and he looked at them only to pause at the weepy-eyed faces.

"What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John? Sam?"

I held up my hands in a 'don't look at me' gesture and Sherlock turned to John.

"Did I do it wrong?"

"No, you didn't." John said, standing. "Come here."

He hugged Sherlock as the audience clapped with awes, though I could still hear Sherlock mutter to John.

"I haven't finished yet."

"Yeah. I know, I know."

Sherlock, not one to stop, tried to continue, but John managed to get him to wait until he sat.

"So, on to some funny stories about John." He started, but some people were still in tears and he hesitated. "If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would…"

The guests chuckled and he nodded to himself.

"…be better… On we go. So, for funny stories…" He pulled out his phone and showed it around. "…one has to look no further than John's blog."

"Here we go." John muttered to Mary with a grin.

"The record of our time together with Sam. Of course, he does tend to romanticize things a bit, but then, you know…" He winked at Mary. "He's a romantic. We've tackled some strange cases. The Hollow Client, The Poison Giant. We've had some frustrating cases, 'touching' cases, and of _course_ , I have to mention The Elephant in the Room."

 _Still don't know how they managed that one._ I mused silently, awaiting the big case.

"But we want something… very particular for this special day, don't we? The Bloody Guardsman."


	23. Chapter 23

**What would you think if I made this a SherlockxOC? I've been hesitant, but let me know your thoughts.**

 **FYI: Double page breaks will separate past events from present.**

* * *

 _ **Case of The Bloody Guardsman**_

* * *

Sherlock faced a wall of information, not looking behind him as he spoke.

"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin."

Mary sat at the desk behind him with a number of RSVPs she was going through in front of her, along with a scale model of the reception area for the wedding. John ignored the two as he skimmed his phone in his chair and Sam slept awkwardly sprawled across Sherlock's armchair; her cat resting on her stomach.

"Ah, orphan's lot. Friends, that's all I have. Lots of friends." Mary replied and Sherlock turned away from the lists and photos of Mary's wedding schedule with a minute frown.

"Schedule the organ music to begin precisely at 11:48." He said, making Mary roll her eyes.

"But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks. Just calm down."

"Calm? I _am_ calm. I'm _extremely_ calm." He argued, something she didn't believe for a minute as she spotted his eyes shift to Sam.

"Let's get back to the reception. Come on." She urged him and he reluctantly headed over so she could hand him a card. "John's cousin. Top table?"

"Hm, hates you. Can't even bear to think about you." He hummed, looking over the card.

"Seriously?"

"Second class post, cheap card." He inhaled and grimaced. "Bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva."

"Ah." Mary looked over her shoulder at John. "Let's stick her by the bogs."

"Oh, yes." Sherlock agreed, sitting beside her and she leaned over.

"Who _else_ hates me?"

He handed her a list, making her mouth drop open as she gave a sarcastic retort.

"Oh, great. Thanks."

John spoke up then, going through cases offered to Sherlock. "Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting."

"Table four…" Mary hummed as well.

"Done." Sherlock answered Mary. "And Sam did it before her impromptu nap." Sherlock drawled to answer John, who chuckled at the next one.

"'My husband is three people'."

"Table five…"

Sherlock frowned at a list of attendees. "Major James Sholto. Who's he?"

"Oh, John's old commanding officer. I don't think he's coming." Mary replied, but John looked up.

"He'll be there."

"Well, he needs to RSVP then."

"He'll _be_ there." He repeated firmly, earning a hum in response as he went back to his phone. "'My husband is three people'. It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin."

"Identical triplets. One in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat." Sherlock spat out quickly, pulling out a tray with differently shaped napkins out from under the coffee table he'd moved to. "Now, serviettes. Swan or Sydney Opera House?"

Mary blinked in shock. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation—"

"Fibbing, Sherlock." She called him out and he tried again.

"I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of—"

"I'm not John. I can tell when you're fibbing."

"He learned it on YouTube." A tired voice spoke up, Sam stretching with a yawn as her cat hopped down with his own stretch and Sherlock huffed. "I can also do a rose, bird of paradise and a rabbit; if that helps."

"Showoff." Sherlock grumbled, before Mary suddenly pulled out her phone.

"Opera House, please, and maybe some bird of paradise too. You can do half and half. Oh, hang on. I'm buzzing." She lifted it to her ear and stood, heading for the kitchen. "Hello? Oh, hi… Beth! Yeah, yeah. I don't see why not."

John's gaze lifted from the phone at the name 'Beth' and he got up as well. "Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too. Hang on."

Sherlock plopped down at the coffee table with the napkins as Sam sighed and headed over as well, lightly smacking his hand.

"No, that's the swan. You have to fold it _this_ way if you want the bird of paradise."

"I know what I'm doing." He frowned, but she scoffed.

"Yeah, but you gave up halfway through the video to play with the fingers in the fridge. Just let me."

John briefly glanced at them before shaking his head and coming up beside Mary in the kitchen; both speaking in hushed tones.

"He knows we don't have a friend called Beth. He's gonna figure out that it's code."

"He's YouTubing serviettes." She hissed back. "They _both_ are."

"They're thorough."

"They're terrified."

"' _Course_ they're not. Sam probably knows what's going on anyway."

"Right. You know when you're scared of something, you start wishing it sooner just to get it all going? That's what they're doing." Mary argued. "And if she _does_ know, then she wants to get it going even more than he does. She's _bored_."

"Why would he be scared that we're getting married? It's not gonna change anything. We'll still do stuff and he's got Sam."

"Well, you need to _prove_ it to him, that you're still going to be around. Especially with Sam in the state she's in. You saw how he was looking at her just now. She's changed and he doesn't quite know what to do about it, and she's as stiff as a board around him now. They've eased up slightly, yes, but I can still see it and so should you. I told you to find them a new case."

"I'm trying."

"You need to run them, okay? Show Sherlock it's still the good old days and get Sam to relax."

She nodded encouragingly and he hesitated, so she shoved him into the living room again, only to find Sherlock and Sam sitting on the ground surrounded by elegantly folded napkins. They both turned and John caught the slightest tint of embarrassed pink on Sam's face as Sherlock gestured to the napkins.

"That just sort of… happened." He murmured and John made a face before stepping further into the room and addressing them.

"Sherlock, um, mate…" John said, trying to think up what to say as Sherlock stood and Sam pulled out her phone. "I-I… I've smelled eighteen perfumes. I've sampled… nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical. I _like_ the bridesmaids in purple—"

"Lilac." Sherlock corrected as they sat at the desk.

"Lilac. Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don't even understand the decisions that we _have_ made. I'm faking opinions and it's exhausting. So please, before she comes back…" He looked to the kitchen before handing Sherlock his phone. "Pick something. _Anything_. Pick one."

"Pick what?"

John blinked, before laughing. "A case! Your inbox is bursting. Just… get me out of here."

Sherlock leaned in. "You want to go out on a case? N-Now?"

"Please, Sherlock. For me."

"Don't you worry about a thing. I'll get you out of this." Sherlock agreed, but Sam slipped her phone over before he could take Johns.

"This one." She said, tapping the table as the two looked at her, startled. "Trust me."

Sherlock took the phone, hesitantly. "Another one of your hints?"

She shrugged. "I know it's a good one. Can't tell you much more about it though. Just take me with you. I'm being driven up the bend being trapped in here for so long."

Sherlock nodded, looking over the case she'd offered and his eyes widened. "Oh…"

 _Dear Mr. Holmes,_

 _My name is Bainbridge. I'm a Private in Her Majesty's Household Guard._

 _I'm writing to you about a personal matter._

 _One I don't care to bring before my superiors._

 _It would sound so trivial, but I think someone's stalking me._

 _I'm used to tourists. It's part of the job, but this is different._

 _Someone's watching me._

 _He's taking pictures of me_ every _day._

 _Don't want to mention it to the major, but it's really preying on my mind._

 _Grenadier Bainbridge_

"Uniform fetish." Sherlock declared, though something about the case irked him. "'All the nice girls like a soldier'."

"It's 'sailor'." John corrected his misunderstood lyrics. "And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke. Let's go and investigate. Please?"

"'Elite Guard'."

"Forty enlisted men and officers." John rattled off what he knew.

"Why this _particular_ Grenadier? Curious."

" _Now_ , you're talking." John grinned, glad that Sam had found a case that caught his attention.

"Okay."

They got up and made of the door just as Mary came out of the kitchen, hanging up with 'Beth'.

"Uh, we're just going to… I need, um, Sherlock to help me chose some, uh…" John stuttered out, playing his part. "…socks."

"Ties." Sherlock said at the same time as Mary looked between the two with a small smile.

"Why don't we go with socks?"

"Yeah…"

"I mean, you've got to get the right ones." She continued and John nodded.

"Exactly. To go with my outfit."

"Tie." Sherlock cut in again as Mary ignored the mistakes and looked to John.

"That'll take a while, right?"

John pointed to the kitchen. "My coat in there?"

"Yes."

He went to go get it as Sam moved upstairs to get her hoodie; Mary and Sherlock moving closer to speak in hushed tones.

"Just going to take them out for a bit. Run them."

"I know." Mary smiled as Sherlock returned the gesture. "You _said_ you'd find them a case!"

"Mm."

John came back out. "Come on, Sherlock." He turned to the stairs. "Hurry up, Sam!"

"On it." She called down as they headed out and Mary grinned, giving the two men two thumbs-up without either knowing that she was doing it to both of them.

They headed down to the front door as Sam came down from upstairs and raised a brow at Mary's chuckles.

"Having fun?"

She nodded. "They're just too easy!"

Sam snorted, grabbing her coat to throw over her hoodie. "They would hate it if we ever teamed up against them."

"Oh, yes. I should think so." Mary smiled, as Sam went for the door. "Ah, wait!"

Sam paused and Mary headed over, straightening the young woman's coat lapels and lightly brushing a hand over the young woman's right hand; making her flinch. Mary paused, tugging the glove off and gave Sam a glance at the bruised knuckles she'd been hiding.

"This wasn't from your case." She questioned, though it came off sounding like a statement, as Sam grimaced.

"…No."

Mary sighed heavily, letting the woman go as she pulled her glove back on to hide the bruising. "I don't know what you're getting mixed up in, but try to take better care of yourself. He worries about you, you know, and if I can see the signs then you can be sure he does too. And don't think I've overlooked these ones."

Mary jabbed a finger into Sam's side, earning a painful grunt from the woman at the other bruising she'd discovered. Sam shot her a disgruntled look, but it was half-hearted; Mary could tell. The two were rather fond of each other and… they both knew the other had things—secrets—they didn't want the other knowing about. It helped knowing that. Brought them closer. But being close had its downfalls. Namely, both of them wanting to discuss their problems with the other, but not knowing how to go about it or even if they should.

"You can talk to me, if you want." Mary offered and Sam slowly nodded.

"…Maybe… soon." She shot the older woman a sad look. "I'll listen as well… Mary."

Mary's eyes narrowed slightly, body stiffening at the slight emphasis Sam used on her name, as though she was unsure about it.

"How much do you know?" Mary asked, remembering what John had told her about the young woman's knowledge of things and not wanting to believe it, but she couldn't help beginning to, with the proof before her.

Sam sighed heavily. Far too heavily for someone her age.

"More than I want."

* * *

I yawned as I leaned back on the bench Sherlock and John were seated on with me as we waited for Bainbridge to get off his guard duty. It was a bit boring, but I knew that things were about to get a little crazy in the next given hour. I simply had to decide whether I would be sneaking around with Sherlock, going the normal way with John, or taking my own path to the ultimate goal of the men's showers. _I doubt my presence will help get respect from that guy John talks to, so I guess I'm with Sherlock. Wandering on my own doesn't sound fun._ I drummed my fingers on my phone in my pocket; the device prepped to call an ambulance later as I idly listened to Sherlock and John talk.

"So, why don't you see him anymore?" Sherlock asked.

"Who?"

"Your previous commander, Sholto."

"' _Previous_ commander…'"

Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration at the blunder. "I meant 'ex'."

"'Previous' suggests that I currently _have_ a commander."

"Which you don't."

"Which I don't."

"Yeah, you do."

John leaned forward to eye me with a frown. " _No_ , I don't."

I cracked an eye open to look at him. "Pretty sure Mary counts."

He flushed a bit at that, but Sherlock got him back to the question.

"He was decorated, wasn't he? A war hero."

"Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle."

"'Crows'?"

"New recruits." I answered for him, earning a nod of affirmation as John continued his story.

"It's standard procedure. Break the new boys in, but it went wrong. They died. He was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than _you_."

I looked over at the crowd around Bainbridge in a daze, remembering those threats aimed at me.

" _This is your fault!"_

" _It's all because of your job!"_

" _We told him not to get with you!"_

" _You're a danger to my son and now look what happened!"_

" _He's dead because of you!"_

" _You should have died, not him!"_

" _You killed him!"_

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and begrudgingly standing, catching the attention of the two men still conversing.

"I need a smoke." I informed them, heading a bit away and pulling the pack of cigarettes from my coat pocket and lighting one.

" _You know I don't' blame you for what happened._ "

I closed my eyes with a grimace at Bobbie's echoing voice in my mind. "But your family does. _I_ do. If I hadn't asked for those stupid…" I sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose.

" _I went to get those because I wanted to, Sam. You can't keep dwelling on the what-ifs. What happened, happened. It's done and over with. I'm gone and you can still make a living for yourself. Isn't that why you let Sherlock back in?_ "

"Don't go bringing him into this." I grumbled bitterly.

"Bringing who into what?"

I jumped, cursing as I dropped my cigarette on the ground and staring at it forlornly before snuffing it out and giving Sherlock a glare for sneaking up on me.

"You owe me a cigarette." I muttered, earning an eyeroll from him.

"I'll buy you a pack next time I'm out, though care to inform me what drew you to them this time?"

 _None of your business._ I wanted to say, but we _had_ promised to be a little more open with one another, so I huffed.

"Sholto's not the only one who's dealt with familial hate." I said, bitterly as we started for where the guards were marching.

"Bobbie's family, then?" He concluded and I gave a short nod.

"They didn't like that he was together with a druggie, despite him arguing for me. So, when he was killed…"

"They blamed you."

"Hm."

There was a beat of silence, before Sherlock scoffed.

"Well, aren't they idiots? Honestly, were they even paying attention to the news? A random thug killed him while he was out shopping. A thug who had no relation to you or your job at all. It could have been anyone."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't make what they said bother me any less." I breathed out, earning a curious look from Sherlock as he scooped up a bearskin someone had left lying around and plopped it on his head.

" _Does_ it bother you?"

I shot him a look, giving his hat a once-over, before answering. "Does it bother you when Donavon calls you a freak?"

He frowned. "No."

"Then, no, it doesn't bother me." I replied, looking over at the group marching nearby where we were headed. "Though, now we both know we're lying, so let's move on, shall we?"

He hesitated, but dropped it, mimicking the marching soldiers as I trailed behind him more normally. He then removed his hat and ruffled his hair in an attempt to rid himself of any hat-hair as I rolled my eyes. _The twat. He doesn't even know what that sort of thing does to people, does he? If his personality wasn't so… Sherlock, he'd have ladies falling at his feet._ For whatever reason though, it was _far_ too easy for us to get upstairs into the building, even with soldiers milling about. Sherlock kept turning away, as though not looking at them would hide us and—surprisingly—it worked. _I suppose it's one of those 'act like you're supposed to be here and people won't be the wiser' things. Morons. The Queen would be ticked if she knew how terrible their security was._ I checked my watch and tapped the screen as Sherlock poked his head into a wreck room.

"Hour's up." I chimed, earning a frustrated frown from him.

"John will get to talk to him. We need to find his locker or room or wherever he keeps his personal items."

I sighed as Sherlock rushed off, only to round the corner into a pair of soldiers, who frowned.

"Excuse me, sirs, but you're not supposed to be up here." One declared.

"Oh, well, we'll just get going then." Sherlock replied, quirking a smile and turning to me. "Come along, Sam."

He didn't get far though, before the man grabbed him by the arm and the other grabbed me.

"I don't think so. You're in a restricted area. We're taking you to the Major."

"Or, we could get caught. That works too." I muttered as we were led to the man's office.

The secretary there informed us that he'd gone to the showers for an emergency, and we were brought there instead; arms pinned behind our backs.

"Sir, we caught these two snooping around."

The Major turned angrily to John, whereas my eyes went straight to Bainbridge bleeding on the ground.

" _Bobbie! Bobbie!"_

I sucked a long breath through my teeth, trying to focus as the Major shouted.

"Is that what this was all about? Distracting me so that _these_ two could get in here and kill Bainbridge?"

"Don't be—"

Sherlock jerked free of the soldier holding him, walking closer to Bainbridge.

"Kill him with what? Where's the weapon?" Sherlock asked the Major as he was pulled back again.

"What?"

"Where's the weapon? Go on, search us." Sherlock demanded, holding his arms out. "No weapon."

John quickly tried to help as well. "Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When's this supposed to have happened?"

The Major eyed Sherlock and I. "You two obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower."

"No."

" _No?!_ "

"He's soaking wet and there's still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower, _then_ someone stabbed him."

 _Or he was already stabbed, but didn't notice when he got in._ I thought, moving my hand into my pocket and grabbing my phone.

"The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open." The Duty Sergeant who'd found him informed.

"You must have climbed over the top."

"Well, then we'd be wet too, wouldn't we?" Sherlock snapped, annoyed with him as John raised his voice.

"Major, please! I'm John Watson, Fifth Northumberlan Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand and Bart's _bloody_ Hospital." He snapped, insistent. "Let me examine this body."

The Major went quiet before begrudgingly nodding at the men holding John, and he removed his coat as the Duty Sergeant leaned toward Sherlock.

"Suicide?"

"No. The weapon again. No knife." Sherlock corrected him. "Sam, everything alright?"

I finally turned away from the blood on the ground and nodded. "Yeah, sorry." I raised my phone. "I've called for an ambulance."

Sherlock's brows furrowed. "What? Why?"

I shrugged, trying to play it off while in front of the soldiers. "So, we don't have to wait for it later. I'm sure they'd like for him out of here before someone else needs the showers."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he let it go for now, gesturing for me to come with him to help examine the body.

"Hm, there's a wound to the abdomen; incredibly fine." John informed us.

"Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of here." Sherlock rambled alongside him. "Sam, anything?"

"Stabbed beforehand?" I offered, making Sherlock frown.

"By an intruder? A fellow soldier? Without him noticing?"

"Are you pointing fingers at my men now?" The Major growled and I gave him a calm look.

"I'm presenting options. Never said it was the right answer."

"Sam, how far is that ambulance?" John asked then and I turned back around.

"I called three minutes ago. Should be here in five to seven more minutes."

John looked up to the confused others. "G-Good, because… he's still breathing."

"Oh, my God." The Duty Sergeant muttered as Sherlock's eyes widened.

"What do we do?"

"Give me your scarf." John demanded and while Sherlock looked at him in confusion, I removed mine instead and shifted to John's side; pressing it to the wound. "Thank you, Sam."

"Don't thank me yet." I muttered. "Only saved us three minutes."

"That may be all he needs." John replied, looking to the sergeants in the room. "Make sure someone's out there waiting for that ambulance. They need to be brought here as soon as they arrive. Go!"

The men scuttled off and John turned to me.

"Put more pressure on that wound, nurse."

"Don't call me nurse." I grumbled, glaring at him as I put more of my weight onto the injury.

"Yeah, well, I'm making due. Stephen?" He called to Bainbridge, trying to get him responsive. "Stephen, stay with me."

* * *

 ** _Wedding_**

* * *

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish – but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?" Sherlock asked his audience, a group of people having come for a wedding.

 _Not_ a murder-mystery story-telling.

"Come on, come on. There is actually an element of Q and A to all of this." Sherlock urged, clearing his throat before looking for someone. "Scotland Yard. Have you got a theory?"

Lestrade lifted his head, feeling very much like a deer in the headlights as everyone looked to him. An officer should have answers, shouldn't he?

"Yeah, you. You're a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

"Um, if the… uh, if the… I-If the blade was, uh, propelled through the, um… grating in the air vent… maybe a-a ballista or a… or a catapult. Um, somebody tiny c-could crawl in there." He sucked in an anxious breath. "So, yeah. We're look… We're looking for a-a-a dwarf."

Sherlock blinked. "Brilliant."

"Really?"

"No."

Lestrade dropped his head, looking back at his drink, only to hear a grunt and peer up. Sherlock was glaring at Sam with a small grimace of pain on his face. The woman herself had spotted Lestrade looking and lifted her glass in a silent toast to him; cheering him up somewhat after having kicked Sherlock under the table.

"Next!" Sherlock called, hearing whispering and turning to Molly's boyfriend, Tom.

"Tom. Got a theory?"

Tom slowly stood up, shuffling for a moment. "Um… attempted suicide with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen… like a meat… dagger."

Molly made a face as Sherlock's brows furrowed.

"A meat dagger."

"Yes."

" _Sit down._ " Molly hissed at her boyfriend as Sherlock responded.

"No."

Tom sank back down as Sam slid a napkin towards Sherlock with a single word scribbled on it.

 _Close._

He frowned, disbelieving, but she didn't give him any more hints, so he went on with his speech.

"There was _one_ feature, and _only_ one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson, who—while I was trying to solve the murder—instead saved a life with Sam's assistance." He announced, making Mary laugh in delight and John smile. "The best and bravest man I know, and on top of that, he actually knows how to do stuff… except wedding planning and serviettes. He's rubbish at those."

"True." John laughed with the guests.

"The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder—or attempted murder—I've ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John. I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some—" Sherlock started, only for Lestrade to cut in.

"No, no, wait. So, how was it… how was it done?"

"How was _what_ done?"

"The stabbing."

Sherlock looked down awkwardly, hesitant before begrudgingly giving a response. "I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's… It can happen sometimes. It's very… very disappointing." He took a moment for himself, before moving on. "Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course, there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits."

* * *

 _ **Stag Night**_

* * *

"Murder scenes?" Mary questioned at Sherlock's suggestion for a stag night. "Locations of… murders?"

"Mm, pub crawl; themed." He nodded.

"Yeah, but w-why can't you just do Underground stations?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Lacks the personal touch. We're going to go for a drink in every street where we—"

"—every street where you found a corpse." She finished off, getting the idea. "Delightful. Where do _I_ come in?"

"Don't want to get ill. That would ruin it. Spoil the mood. Sam says John might want to get pissed, but I disagree."

Molly didn't, but went along with it. "You're a graduate chemist. Can't you just work it out?"

"I lack the practical experience."

Molly eyed him. "Meaning you think I like a drink."

"Occasionally. As does Sam, however, she lacks the skills with chemistry."

Molly ignored the comment on the other woman. "That I'm a drunk."

"No. No!" He argued poorly, unnerved by her gaze. "You look… well."

She cracked a smile at his awkwardness. "I am."

"How's…" Sherlock made a face, struggling to remember the man's name. "… _Tom_?"

"Not a sociopath."

"Still? Good."

"And we're having quite a lot of sex." She stated abruptly, stunning him at the information; not knowing that it was her trying to make him jealous.

Ever since Sam had returned and Sherlock came back from the dead, it didn't seem like he needed her much anymore. As young as Sam was, Molly didn't think it was too much of a stretch for her and Sherlock to become something special. Already, they seemed to share so much.

"Okay." Sherlock pulled out a folder full of files. "I want you to calculate John's ideal intake and mine, to remain in the sweet spot the whole evening."

Molly pulled out a few documents before raising a brow. "This one is Sam's."

Sherlock nodded. "Oh, right. I forgot to mention that. She may be joining us as well. She didn't get to go to the hen night with Mary and the others due to a job conflict, so Mary suggested she try with us. It was just going to be me and John anyway. So, we're going for light-headed being good…"

"Urinating in wardrobes, bad." Molly concluded, though not sounding entirely pleased anymore.

"Hm."

* * *

Sherlock brought over three large graduated cylinders over to where Sam and John were seated, earning a raised brow from the man, whereas the woman just accepted her slightly-less-filled one and began to chug it down. _Bad day then._ Sherlock concluded as he took out his phone and started up a stopwatch.

John eyed it as he took the cylinder. "What? Are we on a schedule?"

"You'll thank me."

The trio clinked their glasses and drank. Pub after pub, Sherlock kept track of the group's rising alcohol level and eventually pointing John towards the toilets when it was hitting about that time.

"What are you going to do… if it all turns to shit?" Sam asked, eyes half-lidded and chin propped up on the table.

She'd been sneaking harder drinks on the side when Sherlock wasn't paying attention; something John wouldn't start doing until the next pub.

"What?"

"Your little calculations." She muttered, wiggling a finger at his coat. "All it takes is for John to think he wants more to drink or something stronger. You didn't calculate the… the effects alcohol has on mindset. People don't like being cut off before they've had their fill."

Sherlock frowned, noticing the slight slurring to some of her words. "You shouldn't have inhibited speech functions yet."

She shrugged. "Snuck a few shots of whiskey."

Sherlock groaned, but she went on.

"In any case, I know my limits better than you." She huffed, sitting up and leaning back slightly in her seat. "And _you_ didn't have to deal with a set of very upset, highly Christian parents who discovered that their homosexual daughter ran off with her girlfriend to the states; _not_ running to a supposed secret boyfriend she had gotten pregnant with like they suspected. I deserve to be a little drunker than you right now."

" _Fine_." He bit out, begrudgingly deleting her info from the app he was using.

There was no point tracking her alcohol levels now.

"Although, you really should be careful." She hinted, catching his attention. "If he wants to sneak a drink, it won't be hard. I suggest… Nah, never mind."

"What?" Sherlock pressed, seeing that Sam knew something about this stag night that he wanted to know about before it turned on its head.

"It's more fun to let things happen this time round." Sam hummed instead, making Sherlock huff as John returned.

"Come on. We're going to the next one."

True to Sam's word, John started sneaking in shots without Sherlock's knowledge. Sam was right there beside him too, almost encouragingly, but she said nothing as John tipped a shot into one of the beer cylinders and accidentally gave it to Sherlock. Due to that error, at the next pub, Sherlock was a little tipsier than he should have been and was arguing with a man about ash.

"Don't tell me I don't!" He emphasized with a finger jabbed into the man's chest for each word before pushing him.

Said man retaliated, swinging a punch at Sherlock, who swayed backward when Sam pulled his coat; dodging the hit only for her to knock the attacker off his feet herself.

"Lay off, you lot." She snapped as the man was hefted up by his buddy. "He's pissed, just like the lot of ya. If you wanna fight, then go outside and I'll deal with you."

John grabbed her arm then as the men grumbled and began to leave. "Alright, enough. That's… come on." He slurred out, tugging her away from a possible barfight and getting her to help him pick up Sherlock.

They made for the exit, stumbling about as they caught a cab back to Baker Street. Sherlock and John collapsed on the stairs leading up, but Sam was sitting on the ground with her back to the wall as she smoked idly; eyes dazed still from the drinking.

"I have an international reputation." Sherlock mumbled. "Do _you_ have an international reputation?"

"No, I don't have an international reputation." John answered.

"No." Sherlock agreed. "Sam?"

"I suppose I do." She answered, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. "I was a PI in New York. They knew me."

"I know ash." Sherlock slurred out, remembering something else he knew. "And I can't even remember what the reputation is for… Sss… Crime… something or other."

Mrs. Hudson popped out of her flat to take out the garbage and jolted in surprise at the group.

"Oh. What are _you_ doing back? I thought you were going to be out late."

"Ah, Hudders." Sherlock announced in apparent recognition. "What time is it?"

"You've only been out two hours." She informed them, making Sherlock and John bolt upright.

It felt like ages to them.

"I thought it was three." Sam hummed, pushing herself up to a standing position using the wall; apparently soberer than they were, as she barely had a stumble in her step as she pushed past the two up the stairs. "Come on then. Time for games. I'll get the drinks."

At the word 'drinks' the two boys clambered up after her. After a brief explanation of the 'Who Am I' drinking game, the trio sat around with various names on paper stuck to their forehead and Scotch in their glasses. Sherlock had his own name plastered to his forehead and John had Cheese on his, while Sam had Madonna taped to hers.

"Am I a vegetable?" John asked.

"You? Or the thing?" Sherlock questioned, making the group snigger.

"Funny!"

Sherlock looked sheepish. "Thank you."

"You're not a vegetable." Sam answered John and he nodded to Sherlock.

"It's your go."

"Uh, am I human?"

"Sometimes." John quipped.

"Can't have 'sometimes'. Has to be, um…"

"Yeah, Sherlock. You're human." Sam slurred, drinking her Scotch.

"… 'yes' or 'no'." Sherlock finished his sentence, leaning forward. "Okay… and am I a man?"

"Yup."

"Tall?"

John held his hands up in a shrug. "Not as tall as people think."

"Hm, nice?"

"Ish."

"Clever?"

"The cleverest." Sam hummed, eyes closed as she leaned back in her chair; absentmindedly petting Smith on her lap.

"Really?" Sherlock questioned, pleased as John chuckled. "Mm, am I important?"

"To s-some people."

"Do _people_ …" Sherlock used air quotes. "…like me?"

John reached for his glass, but missed. "Uh, no. They don't. You tend to rub 'em up the wrong way."

"Okay."

John and Sam sniggered at that.

"Am I the current King of England?"

"You don't _have_ king." Sam scoffed. "Your brother doesn't count."

"Doesn't he?"

More laughter as John answered him.

"No."

"Your go." Sherlock said, turning to Sam and nearly falling out of his seat.

He braced himself on her leg, looking down awkwardly before pulling away. "Sorry."

Sam shrugged, though her cheeks were a bit pink; and not from the alcohol. "R-Right. Um, am I… a woman?"

"Yes."

"Am I… pretty?" She asked, wrinkling her nose slightly, before looking sad almost.

Sherlock frowned, looking for something to cheer her up. "Uh… Uh, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models."

Sam eyed him. "Okay… Is that a no?"

Sherlock squinted at the name written on her paper. "I don't know who you are. I don't know who you're supposed to be."

"You picked the name!" John complained as Sherlock waved him off. "Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers."

"You're not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?" John huffed, slouching in his seat.

Sherlock looked upwards, trying to see his own paper. "So, I am human. I'm not as tall as people think I am. I-I'm nice-ish, clever, important to some people, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way." He chuckled. "Got it."

"Go on, then." John encouraged, curious to see what he'd come up with.

Because he wouldn't have been laughing if he had the right answer.

"I'm _you_ , aren't I?" He said, gesturing to John as Sam sputtered into laughter and someone knocked on the door.

"Ooh, ohh." Mrs. Hudson called, making the trio look to her and the woman she was with. "Client."

"Hello." John smiled as Sherlock and Sam waved.

"Hello!"

"Come on." John waved her in and she looked to the three.

"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?"

Grinning broadly, John and Sam both pointed to the paper on Sherlock's forehead as he smiled as well; none the wiser.

* * *

I knew her. My brain was muddled from the alcohol, but she was familiar. _Where? Where do I know her from?_ I wondered as Sherlock stumbled around a living room we'd been brought to. Everything before this was a bit of a blur and, honestly, even now I was sort of dozing in and out. While I'd drank less than Sherlock and John, I knew I was nearing my limit. I wasn't exactly a heavyweight drinker and with my weight where it was right now, I may have overdone it a bit with the Scotch. _I need to eat something._

"Mhmm, he's clueing for looks." John murmured, confusing the woman as the angry landlord of the property scowled at us.

He saw us for what we were in that moment. That being a trio of drunks. Sherlock already had fallen onto his face in the plush white carpet on the floor; snoring. The landlord had enough and hefted him up despite his complaints; threatening the police as the woman tried to stop him.

"This is a famous detective. It's Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson and…" She looked to me as I frowned at the air.

"Sam." I answered her, waving it off. "I help him solve cases… Hamish…"

Something clicked in my head then as Sherlock complained, and I rushed over to a small plastic bin nearby.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock snapped at the landlord. "Don't compromise the integrity of the—"

He stopped, turning around and doubling over just as I got the bin to him; allowing him to vomit in the rubbish bin and not on the floor.

"…crime scene!" John finished for him, lifting his hand for a high-five as Sherlock finished and I grimaced at the vomit in the bin.

 _I need to set this down, or I'm going to fill it next._ I placed it to the side as Sherlock gestured to John.

"Yeah, that."

He slipped his magnifying glass closed and dabbed at a bit of vomit that was on his lips, before the landlord stomped out.

"That's it. I'm calling the cops."

Said cops were called and we were hauled off for the evening; the three of us placed in a cell where we eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Wakey-wakey!"

I jolted awake, reaching for my waist for my weapon, but meeting thin air. _Right. I… left it at the flat…_ I groaned at the harshness of the light now as it burned my eyes and every noise seemed to buzz ten times louder in my ears.

"Oh my God." John grimaced as he looked to who had shouted. "Greg. Is that Greg?"

"Get up. I'm going to put you lot in a taxi." Lestrade said with a grin as I hefted myself to my feet. "Managed to square things with the desk sergeant."

"Thanks." I murmured as John painfully pulled himself up too and Lestrade cackled.

"What a couple of lightweights! You couldn't even make it to closing time!"

I winced at how loud he was and even John complained.

"Can you whisper?"

"Not really!" He shouted instead, making me snarl and step towards him threateningly as Sherlock bolted upright.

"You do that again, and I will _gladly_ stay in here another night for assaulting an officer."

He raised a brow, but did lower his voice. "A bit tetchy then, aren't we? Thought you were supposed to help control them."

I scoffed, turning around to try and help the startled Sherlock onto his feet. "I had a bad day. Drank more than I should for my current weight and I think John accidentally passed me some of the beers he'd dropped whiskey shots into."

"I did what?" John questioned, apparently missing a portion of his night in the drunken haze.

"Shut up and go get our stuff." I waved him off, grabbing Sherlock's arm before he could tumble back onto the bench and leading him out as well. "I don't get paid enough for this babysitting crap."

Lestrade chuckled. "Tell me about it."

I shot him a look. " _You_ don't live with him."

He winced. "Good point. Is there, uh, anything more I can do?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Call Mrs. Hudson. Ask her if she can make breakfast. If I don't eat something soon, I'm going to keel over and Sherlock and John might hurl… again."

"Will do."

I joined the other two and began pulling on my coat and grabbing my things as John cleared his throat.

"Well, thanks for a… you know… an evening."

Sherlock scowled as we began to leave. "It was awful."

"Yeah."

"I was going to pretend, but it was, _truly_."

"Would have been better if _someone_ didn't want more to drink." I grumbled, eyeing John, who looked away sheepishly.

He apparently remembered that part.

"That woman, Tess." Sherlock said then, confusing John as I groaned and slapped a hand to my face.

" _That's_ what I forgot!"

"What?"

"Dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months." Sherlock scowled. "What a _wasted_ opportunity."

"…Okay, but what did _you_ mean, Sam?" John asked.

"She's important for something later on." I muttered, catching Sherlock's attention. "Just keep looking into it."

He nodded and we climbed into the cab back to Baker Street.

* * *

 _ **Wedding**_

* * *

"Married." Sherlock declared, trying to go through the process he'd done back when dealing with the actual incident. "Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of—" He grimaced, shooting Sam a glare for kicking him _again_.

She nodded towards the guests though and, upon taking a look around, Sherlock cleared his throat.

"On second thought, I _probably_ should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special. Quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of any of us, _Sam and I_ will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that, I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways." Sherlock held up his phone. "This blog is the story of two men, a young woman, and their frankly ridiculous adventures of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story; a _bigger_ adventure." He turned to John and Mary. "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding."

He lifted his glass as everyone stood, but spotted a napkin being slid over from Sam.

"Today begins the adventure of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson."

 _Hamish._

"The two reasons why every single one of us is…"

It clicked in his head then; her hint. Tess had said that. She'd called John by his full name. By his _middle_ name. One which John had refused to tell even him about until he dragged up the man's birth certificate. _So, how did she… Oh, the only time it's been made public the wedding invitation._

" _Enjoy the wedding."_ He remembered her saying when he'd messaged her along with the others tricked by the supposed ghost.

 _She knew about the wedding,_ seen _a wedding invitation. Barely a hundred people had seen it. The Mayfly Man only saw five women. For one person to be in both groups…_ could _be a coincidence._ Sherlock mentally grimaced, hearing his brother in his ear chiding him for such a thought. _He went through a lot of trouble to find out about this wedding, which implies criminal intent, intelligence, planning. The Mayfly Man… The Mayfly Man is…_

"…here today."

Sherlock's glass fell to the ground and shattered, startling him out of his little daze.

"Oh, sorry. I…"

He struggled to think up something to say as another glass was passed to him by the Master of Ceremonies. _Something is going to happen, right here, any second._

"Now, where were we?" He started, words sliding from his mouth like water, but unnoticed in the haze of information he was suddenly trying to take in of everyone in the room.

 _I have control of the room. I can't lose it now._

"Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you."

A finger tapped the table making his eyes flicker down to the napkin once more.

 _Don't lose control_ _._

"And down again." Sherlock said, gesturing for everyone to sit once more.

They did, with murmurs of confusion as he rambled on, trying to buy time.

"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech. Get off early, leave them laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now…" He jumped over the table, startling John and the others. "…part two."

Sam pulled out her phone and began texting under the table, making John glance at her as a few phones buzzed in the building.

 _Lestrade, something's wrong._

 _You need to discretely secure the building._

 _No one in or out._

"Part two is more action-based. I'm going to… walk around, shake things up a bit." Sherlock said, mind still racing as he looked over every guest and feared any one of them could have been the person he was looking for.

 _John, you need to be ready._

 _Battle stations._

 _And tell Mary she needs to remember_

 _Everyone's rooms._

John frowned over at Sam, but did as she said as Lestrade got up to leave and Sherlock spun around with a clap of his hands.

"Wedding's are _great_! Love a wedding. And John's great too. Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his… jumpers. And he can cook. Does a thing… thing with peas, once. Might not be peas. Might not be _him_. But he's got a great singing voice… or _somebody_ does."

Sam twitched at that, sending the final message and Sherlock whipped out his phone.

 _Calm down!_

 _Look for the victim._

 _Work backward_

 _And remember what I've said._

"Oh…" He breathed out, shoulders relaxing as he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned around, smirking at the people at the head table. "Oh, it'll always be you, won't it? You two keep me right."

John stood up, back straight. "What do I do?"

"Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder. Save the life. And you." He turned to Sam as she stiffened as well. "You've got all the answers. Help me figure this out."

Her jaw tensed. "I've already given you hints and we have an audience. I don't want this to end up like… before."

Sherlock frowned at that, remembering how a few misplaced hints and nearly ended up with her in jail. "I won't let it happen again. I promise."

She hesitated—longer than her past self would have before those two long years—but sighed. "Fine. Let's knock heads."

Sherlock grinned at that, allowing her to join him on the other side of the table as he looked back over the crowd.

"Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!" He clapped his hands together, smile falling; face serious. "Let's play a game. Let's play murder."

Mrs. Hudson let out a little complaint, but was ignored.

"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"

"I think _you're_ a popular choice at the moment, dear." The elderly landlady grumbled.

"If someone could move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be _lovely_." Sherlock snapped. "More importantly, who could you _only_ kill at a wedding?"

"Not someone easy." Sam said, fingers twitching slightly, but having no cigarettes on hand.

"Course not. Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've _often_ planned the murder of friends and colleagues."

"Focus." Sam said sharply, seeing he was about to go off into a ramble again and Sherlock grit his teeth. "Who could you kill only here?"

"Someone who doesn't get out much."

"Obviously, but they came here."

"Planned social encounter known about months in advance. An exception. Unique opportunity."

Sam nodded. "We're in public. Lots of people. Makes things difficult, so—"

"So, killing them in private isn't an option." He concluded, narrowing down the guests bit by bit. "Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then."

"Private person, obsessed with personal security. Hires vetted, private staff who are then made to keep a secret." Sam tacked on.

"Possibly someone under threat."

"He's about to be killed, so he's _obviously_ under threat."

Sherlock eyed her for the comment. "Cheeky and a bit rude."

She shot him a glare. "Stressed."

Two sets of eyes then landed on the topic of the discussion, before Sherlock snatched a name card from off a table; scribbling on it and discretely placing it before Major Sholto.

 _It's you_.

"There is another question that remains, however. A big one, a _huge_ one… How would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?"

"It's complicated." Sam responded, following him around the room. "Doing it, anyway. You would have to plan it out. _Practice_ it, to get it just right and account for any change or error that may occur."

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!" Archie chirped and Sherlock lit up, remembering Sam's hint before about him.

He hurried over and bent forward eagerly. "Oh, hell again, Archie. What's _your_ theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you."

"The invisible man could do it."

Sherlock's brows furrowed, lost. "The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?"

"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman."

Sherlock's eyes widened in understanding; all those hints coming back to him.

" _I wish there could have been something done earlier…"_

" _Listen to Archie."_

"… _has to do with a past case. A recent past case…"_

Those ones made sense now. The Bloody Guardsman case that he hadn't solved before suddenly became clearer.

"… _have to plan it out._ Practice _it…"_

"Rehearsed." He breathed out, turning to watch the Major leave before rushing to try and end his control of the room and get out of there. "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude. The bride and groom!" He called out, holding up a glass as the guests questionably did the same.

Immediately after, Sherlock whipped around to John.

"Major Sholto's going to be murdered. I don't know how or by whom, but it's going to happen." He said quickly, moving to get past the guests in the center aisle and grabbing Sam on the way. "That was only some of the hints. What are the others for?"

Sam grimaced as she struggled to keep up with him. "T-The how was the napkin I pushed to you while you listened to theories. Then w-who was—God, hold on. Can I just…" Sam paused for a moment and chucked off her shoes with a sigh of relief as they continued to push past people. "The who was the comment about the cab case." She whipped around then, calling out above the noise. "Mary! Get your butt over here! We'll need you in a second!"

Sherlock shot her a confused look as John hurried to join them and Mary began to make her way over as well.

"What for?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't underestimate a woman. Some of the supposed 'useless information' we pack our heads with is actually helpful."

They reached the stairs just as Mary caught up with them.

"Sholto, room?" Sam questioned and the bride answered right away.

"207."

Sherlock kind of gaped at them in shock as they hurried ahead, John looking at him in similar disbelief.

" _How_ can you not remember which room? You remember everything!"

"I have to delete _something_!" Sherlock complained, rushing along and soon overtaking the two women in dresses; rattling on the doorknob of room 207. "Major Sholto? Major Sholto! _Major_ _Sholto_!"

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time. I'm ready." Sholto called out from his room, undoubtedly having a weapon in hand.

Sherlock clenched and unclenched his hands, unsure of what to do as Joh moved to take his spot in front of the door.

"Major, let us in."

"Kick the door down." Mary added, but Sam shook her head.

"Not with a soldier."

The Major agreed. "I really wouldn't. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

"You're not safe in there." Sherlock attempted again, though his mind was still focused on skimming through Sam's hints and the case to try and understand who was going to kill him, and how. "Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him."

"'The invisible man with the invisible knife'." Sholto repeated.

"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again."

"Solve it, then." He demanded, making Sherlock stutter.

"I-I'm sorry?"

"You're the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case. On you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."

"Please!" John pressed. "This is no time for games. Just let us in! You're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here. Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I _really_ don't approve of collateral damage."

Sherlock began pacing back and forth as Sam shuffled from foot to foot, grinding her teeth. Mary though, had enough.

"Solve it."

Sherlock paused to look at her. "Sorry?"

"Solve it, and he'll open the door, like he said."

Sherlock frowned. "If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it _matters_ now."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock turned to John. "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."

"She's right."

"Oh, _you've_ changed!"

"No, she is." John snapped, pointing at him stubbornly. "Shut up. You are _not_ a puzzle solver. You never have been. You're a drama queen."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Now, there is a man in there about to die. 'The game is on'. _Solve_ it!"

"I…I can't."

Mary turned to Sam then. "Can you help?"

Sam stiffened, bristling like a startled cat. "No."

John, now, took a menacing step forward. "Sam, someone—my ex-commander, my _friend_ —is about to die in there. I'm not about to stand back and watch another person die because you decided to play God and withhold information from us!"

Sam grit her teeth tighter, but stood her ground instead of shrinking away. " _No._ "

" _John._ " Mary warned, seeing the tension rising.

She had _hoped_ he had learned his lesson from the last time he had fought with Sam about her foreknowledge, but evidently, he still harbored some resentment.

"I gave him hints. He'll connect the dots." Sam pressed, lifting her phone. "I've already called an ambulance."

That phrase clicked. Something in Sherlock's scrambled thinking process slipped into place and he remembered Sam having done the same action back with Bainbridge. He then remembered where the wound was and what could have possibly gone there; comparing the crime scene from back then to the one happening right in front of him. Then, the similarities were clear. Sam's hints were clear.

Sherlock rushed to the door, stopping the angered John from potentially getting more angry with Sam, as he shouted to Sholto.

"Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

"What did you say?"

"Don't take off your belt."

A quick glance at Sam's relaxing posture informed Sherlock he was right and his gaze quickly snapped back to the door.

"My belt?"

"His belt, yes." Sherlock answered, turning to the group behind him to explain; though his eyes were narrowed in a glare at John. "Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. _Tight_ belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."

"T-The belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight…" John breathed out in understanding.

"Exactly."

"And when you took it off…"

"Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi." Sherlock agreed, eyes still narrowed at him. "Blaming Sam, honestly." He huffed, ignoring John's sheepish expression as he shook the door handle to Sholto's room. "Major Sholto?"

He had heard the explanation. "So, I was killed by my uniform. How appropriate."

"He solved the case, Major." Mary pressed, concerned as to why the door wasn't being opened. "You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal."

"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore." Sholto sighed. "They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose—given the circumstances—I don't _have_ to. When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."

Sensing the man's downward spiral, John moved forward again. "Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it. Right now. I will kick this door down."

"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think."

Sherlock moved to where John had been. "Yes, I think we are."

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"

"Of course, there is."

"And one should embrace it when it comes, like a soldier."

Sam moved to the door. "When the time is right, perhaps, but think, Major. Think about where you are at."

There was a pause as Sherlock continued Sam's thoughts.

"We wouldn't do this, would we? You and me? We would _never_ do this to John Watson."

The pause grew and John removed his suit coat.

"I'm going to break it down."

Sam held out her hand though, stopping him just as the door slowly opened and Sholto looked to the group.

"I believe I am in need of medical attention."

"I believe I am your doctor." John sighed in relief, moving in the help the man get the basic first aid taken care of before the ambulance arrived.

* * *

He'd lost her. _Again_. The two of them were supposed to be the next couple to dance after John and Mary, yet Sam was nowhere to be found, so he was stuck practicing with the runner-up: Janine. He'd texted Mary, who had offered to go find the woman who'd snuck off, but for now, he was stuck.

"One, two, three. Duh, duh, duh… Ah, pretty good." He mused as they stopped and he quickly let the woman go. "Just… hold your nerve on your turning."

Janine adjusted her dress. "Why do we have to rehearse?"

"Because we are about to dance together in public if Mary cannot locate Sam in time, and your skills are appalling." He mused with a false grin.

Instead of taking his comment to heart, she laughed.

"Well, you're a good teacher."

"Mm." He hummed, brows furrowed. _Sam mentioned that I needed to play nice with her, but never explained why. Annoying._

"And you're a brilliant dancer." Janine tacked on and Sherlock felt pride well up in his chest.

"I'll let you in on something, Janine."

She leaned in to whisper like they were a couple of school kids sharing secrets. "Go on, then."

"I love dancing. I've always loved it."

"Seriously?"

"Watch out."

She backed away, giving him the floor and he did a pirouette perfectly.

"Ooh! Woah!" Janine grinned as Sherlock cleared his throat, brushing off a wave of embarrassment as he thought of what he would have done if John or Sam had seen him.

"Never really comes up in crime work but, um, you know. I live in hope of the right case."

Janine sighed. "I wish you weren't… whatever it is you are."

"I know." Sherlock stated blandly, wondering how many others thought the same.

Thankfully, he was drawn from his thoughts of how tolerable Janine was compared to most woman, as John walked in.

"Well, glad to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding."

" _One_ murder. One _nearly_ murder." Sherlock corrected, leaning to Janine. "Loves to exaggerate. You should try living with him."

Lestrade then entered, holding a door open for the photographer. "Sherlock. Got him for you."

Sherlock clapped his hands, grinning as the excitement of the case returned. "Ah, the photographer. Excellent. Thank you." He reached over to he stunned young man. "Uh, may I have a look at your camera?"

"Uh…" The man hesitated, but then begrudgingly passed it over. "What's this about? I was halfway home!"

"You should have driven faster." Sherlock mused, slicking through the pictures before finding the one he wanted. "Ah, yes. _Yes,_ very good. There, you see? Perfect."

"What is? You going to tell us?" Lestrade pressed and Sherlock passed the camera over.

"Try looking yourself."

John joined the constable, alongside Janine. "Um, look for what? Is the murderer in these photographs?"

"No."

All eyes went to a disgruntled Sam as she was lightly pushed in by a winking Mary.

"No?" John questioned, wincing when he got a blank look in return.

Sherlock went ahead and took over from there. "It's not what's _in_ the photographs, it's what's _not_ in them. Not in _any_ of them."

"Sherlock? The showing off thing. We've discussed it before." John complained and Sherlock resisted rolling his eyes.

"There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. Just like our taxi case, John, as Sam said." Sherlock hummed, as Sam moved to the photographer. "You only ever see the camera."

With a quick snap, the man had a handcuff on his wrist attaching him to a nearby luggage trolley.

"What are you doing? What _is_ this!" The man demanded, jerking his hand as Sherlock held up his phone.

"Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer; known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed. An invitation to a wedding. The one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder making sure of every last detail. Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac—though, in fairness, his photographs _are_ actually quite good." He tossed his phone to Lestrade. "Everything you need's on that. You probably ought to… arrest him or something."

Mary, who had stayed by the door, ducked back in and headed for John as Janine leaned towards Sam.

"Do you _always_ carry handcuffs?"

Sam blinked in surprise as the flirtatious look aimed her way. "I, uh… I'm a PI, so… yeah?"

Janine's smirk grew as Sherlock grumbled beside them.

"Down, girl."

The photographer though, was glaring at Sherlock. "It's not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes." His gaze snapped to Sam's. "Miss PI."

"Oh, we don't do the arresting." Sherlock nodded to Lestrade. "We just farm that out."

"Sholto. _He's_ the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker." Small smirked as Sam's hands clenched, before his smile faltered. "I shouldn't have tried to be clever."

"You should have driven faster." Sherlock spat back, holding out the crook of his elbow to Sam, but she wasn't paying attention; her dazed eyes locked onto Small as he glared heatedly back at her.

With a short sigh, Sherlock grabbed her hand instead, tugging her along after him with the others trailing behind. It was time for everyone to dance.

* * *

I closed my eyes, leaning up against the wall as I allowed Sherlock's violin playing to soothe the tension that had been growing in my shoulders the entire evening. I peered an eye open to watch John and Mary dance, feeling only slightly more comfortable in the crowd of people now that everyone was holding still. Claps and cheers rang out as John gave Mary a small dip back and Sherlock finished playing; tossing his buttonhole flower to the whooping Janine. I closed my eyes once more, ignoring the slice of pain that went through my chest at the act. _Stupid. Don't bother being jealous. You know how things end up with those two, besides… it would never happen between_ us _. He's what? Thirteen years my senior and with what happened—No. Why am I even thinking about this? God, I need a smoke, a drink,_ something.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just, uh, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with." Sherlock said over the microphone as I pinched the bridge of my nose. "More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will _always_ be there, _always_ , for all three of you." He paused, stuttering. "Uh, I'm sorry. I mean, I mean two of you. All _two_ of you. Both of you, in fact. I've miscounted."

I shot him a look, mouthing 'nice save' when he glanced my way, which only made him scowl.

"Anyway, it's time for dancing." He looked to the DJ. "Play the music again, please, thank you. Okay, everybody, just dance. Don't be shy."

He encouraged more people to move onto the dance floor and I grimaced, having to step over by where Mary and John were if only to avoid some of the tipsier dancers elbowing me in my—still tender—ribs. Sherlock was already there by the time I snuck through the crowd, looking sheepish.

"Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting." He apologized, earning a raised brow from Mary.

"'Deduction'?"

"Increased appetite, change of taste perception, and you were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves. You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you. All the signs are there."

"'The signs'?"

Mary looked to me and I just looked to her stomach as Sherlock answered.

"The signs of three."

"What?!"

"Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test." Sherlock suggested as she grinned and John doubled over slightly at the news. "T-The statistics for the first trimester are—"

"Shut up." John cut him off. "Just… shut up."

"Sorry."

John looked to his wife. "How did _he_ notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor."

"It's your day off." Sherlock offered.

"It's _your_ day off."

"John, calm down." I muttered.

"I _am_ calm."

"Stop panicking." Sherlock added.

"I'm not panicking."

"I'm pregnant. _I'm_ panicking!" Mary answered in return, both of the newlyweds looking stunned.

"Don't panic. None of you panic. Absolutely no reason to panic."

"Oh, and you'd know, of course." John huffed.

"Yes, I _would_. You're already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you've had!"

"What practice?"

"Well, you're hardly going to need us around now that you've got a real baby on the way." Sherlock smiled, finally getting John to laugh and smile in delight.

I saw the smile fading though, long before John noticed.

"Dance." I said suddenly, bringing their attention to me.

"Hm?"

I nodded to the dance floor where everyone was sort of dancing and shuffling around us. "Go on. If we keep standing around, people are going to question things."

"And what about you two?" Mary asked, brushing her hand over my arm, though I lightly tugged it away as John scoffed.

"Well, we can't all four dance. There _are_ limits."

"Yes, there are." Sherlock agreed and John cleared his throat before Mary lightly tugged on his arm.

"Come on, husband. Let's go."

John, nervous about dancing, hesitated. "This isn't a waltz, is it?"

She chuckled as Sherlock smiled slightly.

"Don't worry, Mary, I _have_ been tutoring him."

"He did, you know. Baker Street, behind closed curtains." John hummed, taking her hand in his. "Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don't know how _those_ rumors started."

John led Mary away from us, though she managed to mouth a thank you over his shoulder. I nodded alongside Sherlock, but mouthed something back in return.

" _If you need me, I'll listen."_

I knew better than to think Mary had stopped panicking. She was an ex-assassin being blackmailed by a terrible human being. Getting married was one thing, getting pregnant and having the responsibility of a whole new life, was something completely different. She lived a lonely life and lying every day would take its toll on her; something that would be made obvious when she would react to John finding out about her double life. I knew about her. I was more than willing to keep silent about it. I was the only one she could talk to about these things, and I planned on being that for her. Just as I planned to do everything I could to help keep her safe; timeline be damned.

As the dancing crowd closed in a bit, I began to get more uncomfortable and turned to go, only to bump into someone. I went to apologize, except it was Sherlock I had bumped into. He hadn't left my side. _He's supposed to have put the music into an envelope and walked out, so why…_ A quick glance at the music stand said he _had_ left to put the sheet music away, but as to why he was still here, I couldn't be sure. He looked down to me though and I swore my heart stopped. _God,_ damn _him._ I looked away and grabbed his hand, muttering a 'come on' that couldn't have been heard over the loud music pumping in from the speakers. We grabbed our coats and he grabbed his scarf, stepping out into the chilly night air.

"I always thought it was sad." I muttered, once we were heading out towards the driveway.

"Hm?"

I refused to look at him as I sighed heavily. "Seeing you walk out of the wedding. Mrs. Hudson mentioned it too. How sad it was for someone to leave a wedding early."

"I simply do not wish to stay for festivities, as I'm sure you agree with, since you are leaving with me."

He had a point, but that didn't make it any less sad. We climbed into a cab and I winced, glad to be off my feet. The heels I had been forced into by Mary had already started up blisters and despite my short break from them earlier, I'd been in them the rest of the evening. I wouldn't be surprised to find if out the back of my heels were bleeding.

"Who is CAM?" Sherlock asked abruptly.

"A reptile." I murmured, remembering how much the man's face bothered me in my nightmares.

"He's a danger to Mary?"

"And a large number of others, yes."

Silence passed between us for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"Are you upset with John?"

I sighed heavily, crossing my arms over my chest. "I want to be, but… I understand his view of me. I can't get angry at someone who has every right to be angry in return."

"He should know that your knowledge—"

"Does not make it so that I am in control of everything." I cut him off, rubbing at my temples at the headache that had been growing all evening. _I should have drunk more._ "Telling you in that moment would have changed little to nothing in the future. It would have just pushed the timeline forward maybe a minute or two. No repercussions whatsoever other than you possibly being a little annoyed at having to be told instead of figuring it out yourself. There was no point in my keeping silent about it."

"However, you still did, meaning that there _was_ a reason behind it."

I looked over at him with tired eyes. "A reason, yes. But not a reason good enough to risk a life for. It was stupid. He had every right to shout at me. I only kept silent because…" I looked away, out the window into the inky night beyond. "…because I can't have him keep asking me. If I give in once, he'll keep doing it. So long as I deny him answers, maybe he'll give up on asking me. Maybe the questions will stop."

" _What do you know, Sammy?"_

" _Tell me!"_

" _Where did you get this information from?!"_

" _Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You should know better than to keep hiding things from me."_

" _I_ will _find out, you know. You can't stay quiet forever."_

I dragged a shaky hand down my face. "I didn't want this. I never wanted _any_ of this. God, I just wanted you two to be _safe_."

Sherlock stayed silent the rest of the ride home and once back at Baker Street, he was the first up the stairs. I wasn't sure what to make of his actions until I entered our flat and a glass of Scotch was immediately pressed into my hands. Startled, I blinked up at Sherlock as he lifted a first aid kit.

"Let me see your ankles."

 _So, he noticed._ I nodded slowly, moving to the couch and feeling more than a little awkward as he took my bare foot in his hands and began to clean and bandage the blisters. The Scotch helped numb me to the pain of the antiseptic and after a moment, my mind had calmed enough to see that Sherlock had planned this.

"Why are you being nice?" I questioned, speech slurred a bit now that I was going on a fourth glass.

"I do believe we had an agreement, did we not?" He replied, moving to pick up his violin and seating himself down in his chair. "Free to speak our minds with one another without fear of retribution or judgment."

I raised a brow at the judgment part and he paused.

"Perhaps maybe not that last one."

"Hm." I hummed, drinking more and getting up to change into something more comfortable than the dress I was in. "I need a smoke."

He frowned slightly, but didn't stop me even as I finished changing and laid back on the sofa with a lit cigarette. He strummed a few notes idly, waiting for me to speak and after a while, I did. And I kept speaking, with the occasional interjection from Sherlock. Today was just one of my nights. A 'danger day', if you would, and Sherlock was all I had. _Or is it Bobbie? I can't remember. It just hurts. Everything hurts. Why? I'm so tired. So, upset, but I can't remember why?_ Tears streamed down my face, even as my eyes slipped closed and my mind slowed. A hand took my cigarette stub and snuffed it out in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table, moving my half-empty glass of Scotch to the table as well, so as to keep it from toppling over. Hands carefully and smoothly moved me further onto the couch and a blanket was soon draped over my form. I blearily glanced up at the figure hovering over me, lips quivering.

"I-I'm so sorry, Bobbie. 'm sorry. 'm so sorry."

My eyes slipped closed once more and something soft brushed over my forehead, a quiet murmur reaching my ears before everything went dark.

"It's not your fault, Sam. Not now, not ever."


	24. Chapter 24

John bolted upright in bed, panting as Sherlock's voice rang in his ears from the dream he'd been having just a moment ago before he was woken up by knocking on the front door.

" _The game is on."_

Brushing it off, John tossed the covers off him, giving his sleeping wife a glance before heading downstairs to see what was going on. He opened the door to find a woman in tears standing on his porch.

"I-I know it's early." She sniffled, breaking into a sob. "Really, I'm sorry."

"Is that Kate?" Mary questioned from further in the house, startling John from his daze.

"Y-Yeah, it's Kate."

"Invite her in?" Mary suggested, sensing that John was still a bit lost as Kate brought a handkerchief to her face.

"Uh, sorry, yes. D-Do you want to come in, Kate?" He offered, stepping aside and allowing Mary to find out what was wrong as he went to fix tea. _Though, I do have an idea._

Sure enough, her son Isaac had not come home the previous night and was most likely passed out after shooting up in a dump. A little tired of the rebellious teenager causing trouble for him and Mary, John decided that going to fetch the boy would be the best bet. Mary, however, was a little confused.

"Seriously?" She questioned, trailing after him in her pajamas and dressing gown as he went for the car.

"Why not? She's not going to the police. Someone's got to get him."

"Why you?"

"I'm being neighborly."

Mary highly doubted that. "Since when?"

John chuckled, trying to play it off. "Since now. Since this exact minute."

"Why are you being so…" She waved her hands about, struggling to come up with the right word for what John was doing.

"What?"

"I don't know. What's the matter with you?"

"There is _nothing_ the matter with me!" He said loudly, before realizing that he was near shouting. "Imagine I said that without shouting."

"I'm trying." She answered, swiftly moving to the passenger side.

"No, you can't come. You're pregnant." John argued, but Mary was prepared for that.

"You can't _go_. I'm pregnant."

She climbed in without another word and John begrudgingly got in as well, knowing better than to try and argue with her. Upon locating the abandoned building Isaac was most likely at—and incapacitating a druggie in the hallway—John was quickly upstairs searching for the kid.

"Isaac? Isaac Whitney?" He headed over to the smaller man he spotted on a mattress as he lifted a hand. "Isaac? Hello, mate. Sit up for me? Sit up." He helped the kid sit up and began checking his senses as the boy began to focus on him.

"Doctor Watson?"

"Yup."

"Where am I?"

"The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me." John replied as Isaac tried to clear his mind long enough to think properly.

"Have you come for me?"

"Do you think I know a lot of people here?" John questioned, making him laugh.

What he didn't notice was the figure behind him sitting up and looking over his shoulder.

"Oh, hello, John." Sherlock chimed and John turned around in disbelief. "Didn't expect to see you here. Come for me too?"

John resisted the urge to punch the man and got Isaac up onto his feet, sending him out to the car as he got Sherlock up and started scolding him. Isaac stumbled out towards the car and Mary chimed a hello to him as the boy pointed at the car.

"Mrs. Watson, can I-I get in please?"

"Yes, of course, get in. Where's John?" She asked, a little worried.

"They're having a fight."

"Who is?"

A piece of plyboard flew from an entryway as Sherlock shouted.

"For God's sake, John, I'm on a case!"

Mary could hardly restrain her surprise at the spectacle in front of her.

"A month. That's all it took. _One_."

"I'm working," Sherlock answered, hopping over the railing and down a wall as Mary pulled the car closer.

"Sherlock Holmes in a drug den? How'd that gonna look?"

"I'm undercover."

"No, you're not!"

"Well, I'm not _now_!" Sherlock shouted back, waving his arms about.

Mary narrowed her eyes at the duo. " _In_ , both of you, _quickly_."

John climbed into the passenger seat and Sherlock climbed in behind them as the druggie John hurt hurried over holding his arm.

"Please, can I come? I think I've got a broken arm." He pleaded with Mary.

"No. Go away."

John though sighed. "No, let him."

"Why?"

John leaned out of the car to the man. "Yeah, just get in. It's a sprain."

Mary huffed. "Anybody else? I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?"

The man, Bill, hopped in beside Sherlock, eyeing him. "Alright, Shezza?"

John looked back with a face. " _Shezza_?"

"I _was_ undercover," Sherlock grumbled as even Mary shot him a look.

"Seriously? Shezza though?"

Sherlock just sighed as John spoke up sternly.

"We're not going home. We're going to Bart's. I'm calling Molly."

"Why?" Mary asked.

"Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar."

Once the test was completed, John eyed Molly as Mary cleaned up the other two off to the side.

"Well, is he clean?"

"Clean?" Molly questioned, taking off her gloves and standing before Sherlock before slapping him harshly three times. "How _dare_ you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with. And how _dare_ you betray the love of your friends. Say you're sorry."

Sherlock shot her a bland look. "Sorry your engagement's over, though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

"Stop it." She snapped. "Just stop it."

John stormed up to him then, taking the news poorly. "If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me."

"Please do relax. This is all for a case." Sherlock emphasized again.

"A ca… What kind of case would need you doing this? Why didn't Sam stop you or help you or something?"

Sherlock scowled. "Sam? She's not even home."

"What?" John looked slightly surprised. "Where is she then?"

Sherlock shrugged. "She took a flight somewhere last week… No, the week before. Haven't seen her since. Didn't say a word to me."

Mary stood, looking over at them. "She didn't tell you?"

Sherlock stiffened. "Tell me what?"

"Sherlock, the anniversary was a week and a half ago. For Bobbie."

Sherlock's expression faltered for a brief moment, before growing annoyed once again. "I'd be better off getting an answer as to why John's been cycling to work recently, than anything from her."

"No." John shook his head. "We are not playing this game."

"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it." Sherlock continued.

"Not interested."

" _I_ am." Bill piped up before yelping in complaint.

Mary had been looking at something on her phone but shot him a look. "You moved, but it _is_ just a sprain."

"Yeah. Somebody hit me." Bill muttered, eyeing John. "Just some guy."

"Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix." John murmured in response, earning a look from Sherlock too.

"Yes. I think, in a way, it was."

Bill mentioned something about John's shirt then and the trio of men went off in a ramble about proving that John had started cycling, but Mary wasn't interested. She knew better. _Sam should have been home already._ It was then that she got a reply text.

 _If you're a friend of Sam's_

 _You better come get 'er_

 _Before the pigs show up._

An address was sent alongside a short video of someone very familiar throwing fists at someone else. Understanding quickly dawned on her and Mary looked to Molly just as Sherlock rushed out.

"Molly, sorry, but could you take these two boys home. John's got the address for Isaac, but I really need to go."

John looked over, confused now. "Mary? What's wrong?"

Mary plastered on a grin. "Nothing. I've just got an urgent meeting with someone that I completely forgot about. I'll be taking the car, so you should probably ride with Sherlock to make sure he gets back alright." She said, kissing his temple and he dumbly nodded, unable to help but wonder who she was meeting.

It wasn't until after she was long gone that he realized that she was still in her dressing gown.

* * *

Mary hurried up the steps to the dingy place and slipped through the open door to the restaurant, moving quickly through the few men at tables, to the bar

"Yes. Hello. I'm looking for Sam. Sam Foxe."

The man at the bar wiped a glass. "Don't know him."

Mary sighed heavily, pulling out her phone and showing him the text and video. "I got this a few minutes ago, so I honestly think you do know _her_."

The man looked ready to say something more, but Mary added one last tidbit.

"And _please_ don't upset me. I've very much pregnant and have had a _hell_ of a morning."

The man nodded immediately, growing polite the instant she mentioned being pregnant, setting the glass down and motioning to another door.

"This way, ma'am."

Mary lifted her chin proudly. "Thank you."

She was, however, a bit concerned when she was led downstairs to another area—shouts and loud noises permeating through the walls. It wasn't until the man opened a door that she caught the full spectrum of the scene in front of her. A large boxing ring sat in the middle of the floor and a man was thrown out of it and onto a set of plastic folding tables where men shouted and threw beer at one another about the gambling chips landing on the floor. A new man entered the ring, larger than the last and it was then that Mary recognized the other figure in the ring.

Sam stood there with a bloody, broken nose and a cut over her lip to accent a swollen right eye, seemingly ignorant of her injuries and the lack of a shirt—standing in just a sports bra and a pair of harem pants. The larger man charged at her and she ducked under his fist, coming up and slapping her hand to the man's ear before ducking away. Fists held up in a manner not unlike kung fu, she slipped around the man, dodging and getting in hard hits when he was open, only to miscalculate and earn a hard hit to her side. She stumbled into the ropes, much to Mary's concern, grabbing a drink from the nearest man and taking a swig before returning to the fight. She fought hard and rough as the man beside Mary gestured to her.

"That the Sam you're looking for?"

Mary was speechless for a moment before something in her snapped and she spoke up as loudly as she could. "Sam Jacqueline Foxe, get over here this instant!"

The room fell silent and eyes went to Mary as Sam stiffened in the ring before quickly shying away.

" _Now,_ " Mary emphasized and the men in the room looked back to Sam as she started to head out of the ring.

The only thing that stopped her was her angry opponent spitting at the back of her head. Sam closed her eyes for only a millisecond, before whipping back around and throwing a bottle towards the man. He swiped it away but left himself open for a hard shot to the ribs and a hit to the jaw. He tried to swing again, but Sam blocked it with her elbow and clapped him on the ears, disorientating him. She again blocked a half-hearted shot, elbowing the man's jaw and adding another solid punch to it, his ribs and chest. And with one more hit to the man's mouth, she heel kicked him to the ropes and he promptly fell over them and to the ground on the other side in pain as Sam wiped her nose and spat a glob of blood to the side.

She reached Mary just as the man groaned and began to get up, muttering a word under her breath.

"Peasants."

A door burst open then and a number of police officers burst into the room, taking down the prime fighters as a stunned Mary was led out by Sam.

"What… What was that?"

Sam didn't even blink. "Underground fighting ring that I've been integrating myself into for months until I could find the right time to take down their toughest opponent, leaving the police to deal with the easier ones. There was a tournament today. I was on top, so the big guy came out. That was him, on the floor."

"Right…" Mary murmured, unlocking the car. "I take it New York didn't go well?"

"No. No, it didn't."

* * *

"What is my brother doing here?" Sherlock practically spat from the back of the cab the moment he and John pulled up to Baker Street, hopping out of the car immediately after, much to John's annoyance. "He's straightened the door knocker." Sherlock turned back to John as he climbed up the steps after him. "He always corrects it. He's OCD. Doesn't even _know_ he's doing it."

Sherlock pushed the knocker off slightly before heading inside, leaving John to question his actions.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Nothing," John said, letting it go.

Sherlock was still coming off his high and probably didn't realize he'd moved the door knocker. That being said, Sherlock was a bit too busy scowling at Mycroft sitting on the stairs than he was to pay attention to what he'd done.

"Well then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?" Mycroft mocked.

"What are you doing here?" He spat.

" _I_ phoned him," John answered, much to Sherlock's surprise.

"The siren call of old habits." Mycroft hummed. "How very like Uncle Rudy. Though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you. I would have thought Sam would have been the first of you two to go back, especially after her trip."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "Did _everybody_ know about her trip but me?"

"I didn't." John offered.

"She's still cross with you, of _course_ , you didn't." Sherlock huffed. " _You_ phoned him?"

"Course I bloody phoned him."

"Course he bloody did," Mycroft added. "Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"We?"

Anderson's voice chimed from upstairs. "Mr. Holmes?"

"For _God's_ sake!" Sherlock snapped, storming up the stairs to find Anderson and an unknown woman standing in his kitchen. "Anderson?"

Anderson held up his hands. "Sorry, Sherlock. It's for your own good."

"Oh, that's _him,_ isn't it?" The woman questioned as Sherlock stomped childishly to his armchair and curled up in it on his side, after spooking another unknown person from it. "You said he'd be taller."

Mycroft returned then, eyeing the man. "Some members of your little fan-club. Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."

Sherlock didn't answer, closing his eyes.

"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit."

His eyes snapped open. "I do not _have_ a drug habit."

Mycroft ignored his comment. "And make sure you go through Miss Foxe's things as well. Having _two_ drug users in the same flat means either one could have gotten something off the other." Mycroft spared Sherlock a side glance. "Especially since she's dealing with her own danger days, at the moment."

"She's clean." Sherlock huffed, closing his eyes again. "It would take more than just a death anniversary to get her using again."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

The front door was heard then and a shuffle of feet going up the stairs—the tell-tale creaking board being avoided as Sam so often did. That being said, no one in the room except Mycroft had been expecting the woman to walk in looking like she did.

"Christ, Sam! What happened!" John exclaimed, making Sam jolt in surprise and get a good look around the room.

It took her only a moment to see what was going on and understand what had happened. The shock left her features and she gave John a bland look.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry—Sam, I—"

"How was the bust, Miss Foxe?" Mycroft cut him off, earning surprised looks himself.

"Tedious, but done." She replied.

"And your trip?"

Her lips formed a thin line as she grabbed an empty beaker nearby and poured some alcohol into it, chugging it down like a shot glass with only a minor grimace of disgust at the taste.

"Hm, as expected." Mycroft mused, having guessed from the lack of response that it wasn't good.

It was just then that Anderson walked out of John's old room with a rectangular metal case.

"Mr. Holmes, I found this in some of Miss Foxe's things."

Sam winced upon landing on the case that was handed over to Mycroft for examining. Once look inside told him all that he needed to know.

"Planning a top up, Miss Foxe?"

"No." Sam spat, making him raise a brow.

"Really? Three hypodermic needles and a nearly full bag of powder. All it would take is one bad day."

"I haven't used anything."

"Doesn't mean you won't."

"I'll get rid of it."

"You haven't yet and it's been sitting in your room for how long?"

"Don't test me, Mycroft." Sam snapped and Mycroft responded in kind.

"I will test you all I _like_ , Miss Foxe." He snarled, taking a step towards her and making her take a hesitant step back. "You have information that could make or break Britain as we know it and you refuse to share it with anyone except perhaps my idiotic brother. _Said_ brother has a drug problem that he's been coping with for years, only to suddenly dive back into it the moment you choose to leave without informing him of where you're going."

Sherlock sighed. "It wasn't her fault—"

"It doesn't matter whether it was her fault or not. What matters is that she has the potential to be a danger to your health and the rest of the world, based on her own psychological status. One which was compromised the moment her oh-so-precious boyfriend was killed."

It took Sam only a split second to be standing before Mycroft with a snarl on her face and a fist wrapped around his tie.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about him in front of me unless you want to learn how volatile my psychological status can be."

John tugged at her arm and she begrudgingly released Mycroft, shoving past a Sherlock-fan to head upstairs to her room. The door slammed shut loud enough to rattle the windows and Sherlock was the first to cut the thick silence.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Mycroft straightened his tie with a frown. "I did what I must."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. You prodded the preverbal lion. A lion with information you need. Dangerous information. It wouldn't be hard for her to use that information to turn around and take a bite out of you."

Mycroft still looked confident, even smirking a little. "She won't do anything that could potentially cause harm to you."

"She didn't even tell me she left for New York. Do you honestly want to bet on your theory?"

Mycroft's grin fell, but he didn't answer the challenge, looking instead back at Anderson and co. "What have you found so far? Clearly nothing."

"There's nothing _to_ find," Sherlock grumbled, eyeing the metal case Mycroft set aside on the end table nearest him.

"Your bedroom door is shut," Mycroft observed, walking slowly towards it. "You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?"

Sherlock perked up, flipping his hood back and just before Mycroft could open the door, he jumped up.

"Okay, stop! Just stop… Point made."

"Jesus, Sherlock." John murmured, stunned that Sherlock was hiding drugs in his bedroom.

Mycroft retreated, coming back towards the main room. "Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing. I best inform Sam's brothers as well, that she's managed to get herself rather… tense."

"This is not what you think. This is for a case." Sherlock emphasized, standing and moving towards Mycroft—slipping the metal case into his hoodie unnoticed.

"What case could possibly justify this?"

"Magnussen."

That single word made any confidence fall from Mycroft's face.

"Charles Augustus Magnussen."

Slowly, Mycroft looked to the group of fans behind them. "That name you think you may have just heard—you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you—on behalf of the British security services—that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply. Just look frightened and scuttle."

They did exactly as he said, rushing out as Mycroft looked to John.

"I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."

"Well, I think we'd both find _that_ embarrassing." John joked, earning a snort from Sherlock as Mycroft turned his attention back to his brother.

"Magnussen is not your business."

"Oh, you mean he's _yours._ "

"You may consider him under my protection."

"I consider you under his thumb."

"If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against _me_." Mycroft hissed at him.

"Okay. I'll let you know if I notice." Sherlock mused, moving towards the door. "Uh, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah." He opened the door pointedly. "Bye-bye."

Mycroft started to walk out but gave him one last warning. "Unwise, brother mine."

With the same swiftness Sam had shown earlier, Sherlock grabbed his brother's arm and twisted it around behind him painfully as he hissed venomously into Mycroft's ear.

"Brother mine, don't appall me when I'm high."

John could tell the situation was out of control and hurried over as well, speaking to Mycroft. "Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might."

Sherlock released him and Mycroft jerked away, holding his arm tenderly.

"Don't speak, just leave," John told him, before seeing Mycroft wanted his umbrella on the floor, picking it up for him.

Mycroft snatched it up and left as Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. Still curious, John approached.

"Uh, Magnussen?"

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked, confusing John.

"About eight."

Sherlock inhaled and sighed. "I'm meeting him in three hours. I need a bath."

John wasn't about to drop the subject though. "It's for a case, you said?"

"Yup."

"What sort of case?"

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."

"You trying to put me off?"

"God, no." Sherlock grinned. "Trying to recruit you."

He then tossed the metal case to John, who nearly dropped it.

"Give that back to Sam, will you?"

"W-What?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he went towards the restroom. "She's not going to use it. I told you she won't. Too proud for it. Using it now will only prove my brother right, so she's not about to try it out today."

"But she could still do it later," John muttered and Sherlock gave the upstairs a glance.

"Yes, she could, but it would be her choice, wouldn't it? And stay out of my bedroom."

And with that, he shut the door, leaving John to sigh and head for his old room.

* * *

I frowned, rubbing at my aching jaw as I tossed my gym bag onto the bed and tried to figure out what I was forgetting. _Something… Something important, but what?_

"… _it's been sitting in your room for how long?"_

"… _she has the potential to be a danger to your health and the rest of the world…"_

"… _which was compromised the moment her oh-so-precious boyfriend was killed."_

"God, just shut _up_!" I shouted, slamming my already throbbing fist into the dresser beside me, hearing a chime.

I looked over, ignoring the pain and picking up a cat's collar; the bell chiming as I did.

"Oh, no… Smith?" I spun around, checking the room as someone knocked on my door.

"Sam? Sherlock wanted me to give this back to you." John called out, muttering something under his breath, but I was too busy hitting my head on the underside of the bed as I searched for my black feline companion. "Sam?"

"Not _now_ , John!" I shouted back, hearing something about "acting like Sherlock" before I remembered that the house hadn't been entirely abandoned while Sherlock and I were both out.

I bolted to my feet and rushed to the door, pulling it open and completely bypassing John as I hurried down the stairs and began pounding at Sherlock's door.

"Sam, Sherlock said not to—"

I snatched the metal case from John's hands with a scowl only to whip around as Sherlock's door opened and Janine looked at me in surprise—wearing only one of Sherlock's shirts.

"Oh, Sam, John, hi."

"Janine?" John gaped, having not expected this.

"Sorry, not dressed." She chuckled, pulling at the hem of the shirt which only irritated me further.

 _She's not having sex with him, just putting up the appearance of that. I can't remember. Did Sherlock tell her to do that? No, that can't be right. If I remember correctly, she's actually dating him and is only a little frustrated with his not putting out._ I shook my head, immediately dispelling the intrusive thoughts. _Not important right now. Deal with your jealous crush later!_

"Janine, have you seen Smith?"

Janine looked at me in confusion. "Who?"

I groaned loudly. "The cat! Black cat, bit of an arse, lives here? Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were supposed to be watching him while I was gone, but with what just happened—"

"Oh, has everybody gone? I heard shouting."

"Have you seen my cat!" I finally snapped. "Yes or no!"

"No." She muttered and I angrily raked a hand through my hair before knocking on the bathroom door.

"Sherlock!"

"What!" He snapped back.

"You seen Smith?"

"How would _I_ have seen your cat? I've been working on a case!"

"Oh, you useless cu—" I was cut off as John pulled me away from the bathroom door before I could properly kick it hard with my foot.

"Sam! Sam, just calm down. He's probably here somewhere. I'll help you look for him."

I grit my teeth, but begrudgingly turned my attention away from the bathroom door and continued my search.

"God, look at the time. I'll be late." Janine muttered, moving into the kitchen as I looked under Sherlock's chair and in the empty fireplace. "Sounded like an argument earlier. Was it Mike?"

"Mike?" John questioned, looking under the coffee table.

"Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They're always fighting and Sherlock says you and him don't get along well either, Sam."

I merely grunted as John attempted to correct her name usage.

"Mycroft."

"Do people actually call him that?" Janine chuckled.

"Yeah."

"Huh. Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?"

John looked at me, but I hurried past him into the kitchen to check cupboards on the bottom for Smith.

"…Sure, right. Yeah."

"Thanks." Janine smiled, making to head back to the bedroom, but pausing. "Oh, how's Mary? How's married life?"

"She's fine. We're both fine, yeah."

"Liar," I muttered, cursing as I banged my head again and missing John's scowl in my direction as he moved towards the cupboard where the coffee was usually kept.

"Oh, it's over there now." Janine pointed out as I very nearly hurt myself for the third time.

"You reorganized the kitchen cupboards?"

Janine paused. "Oh, sorry. Was that your doing then? The way it was before? I asked Sherlock and he said it was fine to move some things."

"I'm gonna kill him." I spat, though Janine turned away without sensing the venom in my tone.

"Where is Sherl?"

"Sher…" John choked, grinning for only a moment before he caught sight of my face and dropped it. "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."

"Oh, like he ever is." Janine smiled.

"Yeah…"

He glanced at me again and I was ten seconds from strangling the army man for the none-too-subtle looks as Janine made her way into the bathroom to join Sherlock.

"Morning! Room for a little one?" She chimed loudly, being followed by chuckles and splashing; the straw that had finally broke the camel's back.

I slammed a cupboard closed, ignoring the clattering of china that occurred, and stormed into the living room to grab my coat. "I'm going to look outside."

"Ah, wait, Sam." John stopped me, wincing as my bruised, beaten and angry face turned towards him. "Are you… Are you alright?"

"Just _peachy_."

And the door slammed shut behind me.

* * *

"So, just a guess, but you've probably got some questions." Sherlock mused, pulling on his black jacket over a crisp white dress shirt.

"Yeah, one or two, pretty much," John replied, watching as Janine—now dressed properly—headed back to the bedroom.

"Naturally."

"You have a girlfriend?" John asked him and Sherlock answered surprisingly easily.

"Yes, I have."

John couldn't believe it, but Sherlock didn't seem to think the information was important.

"Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark. It's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John—stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes… That's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."

"Yes, you have," John muttered, having not listened to a word he'd said after hearing Sherlock had a girlfriend and someone as… enthusiastic as Janine.

"Sorry, what?"

"You have a girlfriend."

"What? Yes! Yes, I'm going out with Janine. I thought that was _fairly_ obvious." Sherlock complained, not appreciating the way John was focusing on something so minuscule when Magnussen was going to show up soon.

"Yes. Well… yes." John cleared his throat, trying to think of a way to bring up a sensitive topic smoothly. "But I mean, you, you, you… are in a relationship?"

"Yes, I am." Sherlock reiterated.

"You and Janine?"

"Mm, yes. Me and Janine. Where'd Sam run off to? I assumed she'd want to hear about my progress with Magnussen."

"She… left." John murmured under his breath, the topic of his concern having been brought to light by the man himself.

" _Left_?"

John nodded. "To look for her cat, though… she didn't seem too happy about, you know…"

"I know what?" Sherlock questioned, making a disgusted face. "Why is her cat suddenly the most important thing in the world? I honestly hate the thing."

"No, you don't," John argued, having seen some of the pictures Sam had sent Mary of Sherlock and the cat getting along quite well—to the point that the cat was allowed to nap on his lap. "And I'm talking about Janine."

"Why would Sam care?" Sherlock huffed. "She dated Bobby. Who I'm dating shouldn't make a difference."

John wasn't quite sure about that, but if Sherlock was too clueless to see what was going on, then how would his telling the man make any difference.

"So, you and Janine. Care to elaborate?"

"Well, we're in a good place. It's, um… very affirming." Sherlock replied, but John could taste the lie.

"You got that from a book."

" _Everyone_ got that from a book."

Janine chose that moment to walk in with a grin, that John hesitantly returned.

"Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves." She hummed, climbing into Sherlock's lap with a mischievous grin as the man wrapped an arm around her waist. "And you, Sherl, you're gonna have to tell me where you were last night."

"Working."

John could hardly believe the scene he was now witnessing as the two flirted in front of him.

"'Working.' Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?"

"Don't you go letting on." Sherlock murmured, running a finger down her nose.

"I might just, actually." She then looked to John. "I haven't told Mary about this. I kind of wanted to surprise her. Sherl said Sam wouldn't say anything, so I'm trusting you not to either."

"Yeah, she'll probably be surprised. I won't say a word."

"But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!" Janine offered.

"Yeah." Sherlock readily agreed.

"My place though, not the scuzz-dump." Janine lightly punched Sherlock's shoulder, earning a laugh as John nodded, still rather frazzled from what was happening.

"Great, yeah. _Dinner_. Yeah."

"Oh, I better dash," Janine said, standing and making for the door. "It was brilliant to see you."

"You too," John muttered, standing as well as Sherlock went to walk Janine out.

"Have a lovely day. Call me later." Sherlock hummed to the woman in front of the door and she turned to fiddle with his coat lapels.

"I might do. I _might_ call you unless I meet someone prettier."

John quickly turned away as they kissed, Janine whispering to Sherlock under her breath.

"Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes."

Once she was gone though, Sherlock's grin fell right off his face and wiped the back of his hand over his lips without John's notice, before continuing on where he left off with his Magnussen case.

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's _so_ much more than that. He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power." He rambled on, earning a frown from John, who was once again focused on other things. "I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. It's name…" He turned the computer to show Magnussen's home. "…is Appledore."

"Dinner."

"Sorry, what? Dinner?" Sherlock questioned, lost once more with John's lack of focus on what he was presenting.

"Me and Mary, coming for dinner with… wine and… sitting."

Sherlock couldn't believe him. "Seriously? I just told you that the Western world is run from this house and you want to talk about dinner?"

"Fine. Talk about the house." John huffed, not understanding how Sherlock expected him _not_ to be stunned by this sudden scenario.

"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world. The Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals and _none_ of it is on a computer. He's smart—computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house, and as long as it is, the personal freedom of _anyone_ you've ever met is a fantasy."

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson quickly let herself in.

"That was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing." Sherlock replied blandly.

"Oh, that's not a fault, Sherlock!"

"Who is it?" John asked, keeping them on task.

Mrs. Hudson didn't answer, but whoever it was had already made her anxious as she headed downstairs to show them up. Three men entered and Sherlock sighed heavily, putting his arms out.

"Go ahead."

The men searched him as John stared in stunned confusion before a man approached him.

"Sir?"

John looked to Sherlock and then back to the man, remembering what he had on him. "Can I have a moment?"

"Oh, he's fine," Sherlock complained, but the man still went to search John, who tried to hastily explain as the man got closer to what he had hidden.

"Uh, I… right. I should probably tell you…"

The man pulled out a knife and the tire lever that John hadn't taken from his pockets from when he'd come across Bill and Sherlock at the drug house.

"Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you." John joked as the man eyed him and Sherlock spoke up.

"I can vouch for this man. He's a doctor. If you know who I am, then you know who he is…" Sherlock said, looking to the final person to enter the flat. "…don't you, Mr. Magnussen? I understood we were meeting at your office.

"This is my office," Magnussen claimed, eyeing the place and the two standing before him. "Well, it is now."

He picked up a paper off the desk and took a seat on the sofa as Sherlock merely quirked a brow at the odd behavior.

"Mr. Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters. Some time ago you... put pressure on her concerning those letters." Sherlock stated, though seeing how the man appeared to be mostly ignoring him. "She would like those letters back. Obviously, the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind…" Sherlock's brows furrowed as Magnussen let out a soft snort of amusement. "Something I said?"

"No, no. I-I was reading." Magnussen replied, eyeing Sherlock in particular. "There's rather a lot. 'Redbeard.'"

Sherlock blinked at that name, mouth opening slightly, but Magnussen shook his head, having gotten the reaction he'd expected.

"Sorry. S-Sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I…" Sherlock paused for a while, before clearing his throat. "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of—"

"Bathroom?" Magnussen interrupted, looking to one of the guards in the room.

"Along from the kitchen, sir."

"Okay."

Sherlock bit back a dirty response, voice tight. "I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters. I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents—"

Magnussen, having removed his glasses cut in again. "Is it like the rest of the flat?"

"Sir?" The guard questioned.

"The bathroom?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Maybe not then."

Sherlock quickly just got to the point, tired of being ignored. "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

Magnussen met his eyes for a moment before turning his gaze out the window—a small commotion of shouting happening somewhere outside.

"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I _like_ her." He made popping noises, mockingly.

"Mr. Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Sherlock repeated.

"She's English, with a spine." Magnussen pushed the coffee table away from the couch as he stood and approached the fireplace—the commotion outside going quiet and the door downstairs being opened and slammed shut without much notice. "Best thing about the English, you're _so_ domesticated. All standing around, apologizing keeping your little heads down."

There was the sound of Magnussen's zipper being opened after he stepped past a stunned Sherlock and John—steps coming up the stairs.

"You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you."

A figure entered the doorway and before anyone could blink, a knife embedded itself into the fireplace—slicing Magnussen's sleeve in the process.

"Piss in that fireplace and I won't miss next time."

Magnussen looked over his shoulder as the guards drew their guns, but Sam didn't even blink as she continued to glare at the man before her. There was a soft "zip" as Magnussen shut his fly and turned away from the fireplace with a small smirk.

"A nation of herbivores." He finished from before, just standing there and eyeing Sam. "I've interests all over the world but, uh, everything starts in England. If it works here I'll try it in a _real_ country." He finally stepped past Sherlock and John, taking a wipe from a guard to wipe his hands as he approached Sam. "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world. Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them."

He then took the wipe and reached towards Sam to place it in her coat pocket, but she snapped a hand up and grabbed his wrist tight.

"I'm not English, Mr. Magnussen. Don't _test_ me."

The man smirked, jerking his hand from her grip which she allowed as he stepped past her to drop the wipe into the bin nearby the door.

"Goodbye." He hummed, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out some documents. "Anyway, they're funny." He made to leave, before pausing. "Oh, and we seemed to have hit some trash on the way over. I had my men toss it in your bin. Goodbye."

He walked out with the guards and John took a step towards Sam.

" _Jesus_!" He snapped. "If you hadn't shown up Sam, who knows what—"

He didn't get to finish before Sam dashed from the living room and back down the stairs.

"Sam? I wonder what that was all about."

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock questioned, out of the blue and John scowled.

"There _was_ a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah." He scoffed, believing that Sherlock was talking about the man who had been seconds away from pissing in the fireplace of their home.

"Exactly. When he showed us the letters." Sherlock clarified, grinning as he stepped across the room.

"Okay…" John sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "You didn't think Sam's reaction was a bit off?"

Sherlock ignored him. "So, he's brought the letters to London. So, no matter _what_ he says, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses—the 'pressure point,' he calls it." Sherlock slipped on his coat, moving to the window to look down at the car outside. "So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat. _And_ , of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten."

"H-How do you know his schedule?" John questioned."

"Because I do. Right, I'll see you tonight. I've got some shopping to do."

"What's tonight?" John called after him as Sherlock bounded down the stairs.

"I'll text instructions."

"Yeah, I'll text _you_ if I'm available." John countered, annoyed that Sherlock was assuming that he'd be open to joining him.

"You are! I checked!" Sherlock chimed as John hurried downstairs after him. "Don't bring a gun."

"Why would I bring a gun?" John questioned, mentally making note that he _would_ bring a gun.

"Or a knife or a tire lever. Probably best not to do any arm-spraining, but we'll see how the night goes," Sherlock teased, hailing a cab.

"You're just assuming I'm coming along?"

"Time you got out of the house, John." Sherlock gave him a once over. "You've put on seven pounds since you got married and the cycling isn't doing it."

"It's actually four pounds," John argued as Sherlock climbed into his cab.

"Mary and I think seven. See you later."

The cab drove off and John huffed in annoyance, before heading back towards the door. He didn't get a chance to go much more than a step though, before he jumped—Sam having come around the corner without him noticing.

"Jesus, Sam. You scared…" John trailed off, immediately seeing that something was wrong. "Sam?"

She was shaking, arms held tight around a bundle in her arms and mouth opening and closing wordlessly. All that escaped her was a strangled sort of whine as she looked down to the bundle and it was then that John spotted the blood. He rushed over, thinking Sam had hurt herself, but he was quick to understand what had happened and suddenly felt that his giving Sam back her case was not the best idea. Not today.

"Oh my God, Sam." He breathed out, seeing the signs of shock that she was going through and he hastily hailed a cab, pushing her in and spitting out directions quickly.

"The nearest animal hospital. Quickly!"

Once there, John felt helpless as all he could do was rub Sam's back in comfort as he cat was confirmed deceased. She didn't cry, which worried him. She just stared blankly at the bundle until the vet took the creature away to cremate it and even then, John didn't get a word out of her. He'd texted Sherlock, but got no response so he'd gone ahead and texted his wife, to which she replied she was getting off work early to come over and help him. Until she showed up though, he was left on his own with a mourning woman who was practically comatose.

"Sam, please. Say anything. You can cry, get upset, _anything_." He urged, not even getting the woman to look up from her hands in the waiting room. "Don't bottle it up, please. That doesn't help. It never does."

"I…"

John perked up, hopeful that perhaps he'd gotten through to her. This was the first word spoken since the incident with Magnussen and that was hours ago.

"I-I don't… know what to say," she breathed out and John suddenly understood.

She was conflicted. She didn't know what to say to help herself, to get help from him. She was still in shock, possibly even denial as to what happened to her cat. She suddenly stood up, surprising him.

"I need to go."

"What? Where?" He hurried after her as she left the building and moved out towards the street. "Sam, at least wait for Mary. You can't be alone right now!"

This fact was made more obvious when he had to hastily grab her arm to keep her from walking out into traffic.

"Sam, please, listen to me!" He demanded, turning her around to face him. "I know you're hurting. I know you're upset, but you can't be alone right now. I'm worried that you'll…"

He stopped there, not wanting to claim that he didn't trust her right now—he'd seen how that could go with Sherlock already—but he knew she was vulnerable. She was at her lowest in this moment with Bobby's anniversary having just finished, something happening while she'd gone to visit his grave and now her cat having been killed by Magnussen. He just didn't think she'd be able to handle her own demons right now. Thankfully, a car pulled up to the curb and Mary hastily jumped out, rushing over and taking Sam's hand.

"Is she okay?" She asked John, immediately seeing that she wasn't going to get a response from the blank-faced woman she was hanging onto.

"She won't talk to me," he replied honestly. "The first words she's said since she found the cat happened just a minute ago and it's been hours. She just said she needs to go. Mary, she can't be alone right now."

Mary nodded. "I'll take care of her."

John visibly relaxed, trusting his wife to be able to manage Sam and after a quick check to his watch, he realized he needed to meet up with Sherlock soon. He quickly gave Mary a kiss and hurried off. Once Sam was led into the passenger seat of the car, Mary started to drive and spoke.

"You ready to talk now?"

Sam didn't shift her gaze from the street in front of her. "He killed him. Magnussen killed him."

"You're positive."

Sam grit her teeth, hand fisted and a snarl forming on her face. Her mourning had been pushed aside by pure anger.

"Those injuries were not from a car."

Mary gave Sam a side glance. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna kill him."

* * *

John entered the lobby of CAM Global News and checked his watch. He was on time, so where—

"Magnussen's office is on the top floor, just below his private flat," Sherlock said, startling John. "But there are fourteen levels of security between us and him, two of which aren't even legal in this country. Want to know how we're going to break in?"

John shot him a disbelieving look. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Of _course_ , it's what we're doing."

John followed after him, brows furrowed. "Did you get my text?"

"Yes," Sherlock hummed as they went up an escalator. "Magnussen's private lift. It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only _he_ uses it and only _his_ key card calls he lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed."

John frowned, not seeing the concern he expected. "But Sherlock, the text I sent. I really don't think—"

Sherlock cut him off, stopping in front of the lift doors. "Standard key car for the building." He waved it in front of him. "Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen. If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?"

John scowled. "Are we not going to talk about Sam?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "I do believe we have a bigger issue on hand at the moment, John. What would happen?"

John begrudgingly sighed, dropping it, for now. "Uh, the alarms would go off and you'd be dragged away by security."

"Exactly."

"Get taken to a small room somewhere, get your head kicked in," John added with a bit of bite, that Sherlock frowned at before moving on.

"But if I do this…" He held the card against his cellphone. "If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It's a common problem—never put your key card with your phone. What happens if I use the card now?"

"It still doesn't work."

"But it doesn't read as the wrong card now. It registers as corrupted. But if it's corrupted, how do they know it's not Magnussen?"

"Huh," John mused, understanding.

"Would they risk dragging _him_ off?"

"Probably not."

"So, what do they do? What do they _have_ to do?"

"Check if it's him or not," he concluded and Sherlock nodded, approaching the lift.

"There's a camera at eye height to the right of the door. A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office—the only people trusted to make a positive ID, at this hour, almost certainly his PA."

"S-So, how's that help us?"

"Human error. I've been shopping." Sherlock grinned, patting his breast pocket and then holding up the keycard. "Here we go, then."

John, keeping an eye out, muttered. "You realize you don't exactly look like Magnussen."

"Which, in this case, is a considerable advantage."

Sherlock grinned as a familiar voice hissed through the speaker.

" _Sherlock, you complete loon, what're you doing?_ "

"Hang on, was that… that…" John took a step closer, but Sherlock held a hand out to stop him.

"Hi, Janine. Go on, let me in."

" _I can't! You know I can't. Don't be silly._ "

"Don't make me do it out here. Not…" Sherlock looked around, playing his part. "…in front of everyone."

" _Do what in front of everyone?_ "

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a red ring box, opening it in front of the camera to reveal a diamond ring. John gaped at him and it wasn't a second later that the lift doors opened and the two men stepped in; Sherlock looking proud.

"You see? As long as there's people, there's always a weak spot."

"That was Janine," John breathed out in shock.

"Yes, of _course_ it was Janine. She's Magnussen's PA. That's the whole point."

"Did you just get engaged to break into an office?" John accused, silently wondering if Sam knew about this.

"Yeah. Stroke of luck, meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit."

"J-Jesus. Sherlock, she loves you."

Sherlock hardly looked like he cared. "Yes, like I said, human error."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Well, not actually marry her, obviously. There's only so far you can go and I'd rather return to being on speaking terms with Sam once this mess is over."

"So, what will you tell her?"

Sherlock spared him a brief look. "Well, I'll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss' office. I imagine she'll want to stop seeing me at that point, but you're the expert on women."

"What about Sam? Sherlock, this can't be a big thing. Sam will be devastated and I don't think she can handle anything more right now."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She'll be fine."

John disagreed. "Sherlock, you don't understand. You weren't there. You didn't see her when she found Smith."

"Who?"

"The cat, dammit!" John snapped, tired of Sherlock's careless attitude regarding one of his best friends. "Sherlock, Magnussen hit her cat with his car. Sam rushed out to find it in the bins! There was nothing we could do and after Bobby, after whatever happened in New York..."

Sherlock suddenly grew serious. "Where is she now?"

"I left her with Mary, but Sherlock, this is a danger night for her. A _big_ danger night and I know we can't exactly stop what we're doing now and rush to see her, but as soon as this is over—"

"I'll go." He stated firmly, not looking at John as the lift made it to the right floor. "Let's be quick."

He stepped off the lift, prepared to grin away at Janine, but she wasn't there.

"So, where did she go?" John questioned and even Sherlock wasn't sure.

"A bit rude. I just proposed to her."

John found her across the room. "Sherlock?"

"Did she faint?" Sherlock scoffed in disbelief as John checked on her. "Do they _really_ do that? I bet Sam wouldn't do that."

John though lifted bloody fingers. "It's a blow to the head. She's breathing. Janine?"

The woman moaned softly, but Sherlock grew suspicious. He was the only one who was supposed to be here. Janine getting knocked out meant they weren't alone.

"Another in here," he called to John, spotting an unconscious guard on the floor. "Security."

"Does he need help?" John questioned and Sherlock barely gave the man a once over.

"Ex-con. White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares?" He offered, pointing back to John. "Stick with Janine."

Sherlock walked around to the deck, checking the temperature of the seat someone had been in and frowning. It was still warm. John too had come to the same conclusion he had, whispering.

"Hey, they must still be here."

"So's Magnussen. His seat's still warm. He should be at dinner, but he's still in the building." Sherlock looked around before understanding dawned on him. "Upstairs."

"We should call the police," John suggested.

"During our own burglary?" Sherlock reminded him. "You're really not a natural at this, are you?"

John just sighed and put his phone back in his pocket as Sherlock leaned towards the chair, having caught a whiff of something.

"No, wait… Perfume, not Janine's. Claire-de-la-lune." _Odd. Who was here? Another one of Magnussen's victims? The assailant?_ _More importantly…_ "Why do I know it?"

"Mary wears it," John informed him.

"No, not Mary. Somebody else."

"Well, it's definitely not Sam," John scoffed, both of them freezing as they heard something upstairs. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock didn't listen to John's hiss, rushing up the stairs and soon creeping closer to the voice he could hear in one of the penthouse rooms.

"W-W-What would your husband think, eh? He… You're lovely husband, upright, honorable, so English. W-What would he say to you know?" Magnussen attempted, on his knees in front of a dark figure, already looking rather beat up and whimpering in fear.

This only got worse when the figure cocked their pistol and aimed it his way.

"Y-You're doing this to protect him from the truth… but is this protection he would want? A-And I know _you're_ n-not pleased a-about what I did, but what would _he_ think a-about all this? If he knew where you were, w-what you're doing to me—"

A vase was thrown, narrowly missing Magnussen who immediately grimaced.

"Please, p-please. They wouldn't want this."

Sherlock decided now was the time to step out into the light, drawing attention to himself in order to avoid any more harm occurring to Magnussen, before he got what _he_ wanted.

"Additionally, if you're going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume, Lady Smallwood."

Magnussen straightened slightly, looking up in confusion. "Sorry, who?"

Sherlock eyed the figure in black who still hadn't faced him and Magnussen gave him a disbelieving look.

"That's… not… Lady Smallwood, Mr. Holmes."

The assassin turned around, aiming their pistol at Sherlock now and his mind stuttered for a moment, remembering the one thing he'd picked up about Mary since they first met that he'd ignored. _Liar._ _The assassin is Mary Watson._

"Is John with you?" Mary asked.

"H-He's um…"

"Is John _here_?" She repeated, trying to speed things up should John walk in.

"H-He's downstairs."

She nodded as Magnussen spoke up.

"So, what do you do now? Kill us both?"

Mary cracked a bitter grin at Magnussen as Sherlock spoke, trying to find a way out of this situation _without_ anyone dying.

"Mary, whatever he's got on you, let me help."

Sherlock went to step forward, but Mary wasn't having it.

"Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step, I swear I will kill you."

Sherlock shook his head with a small smile. "No, Mrs. Watson. You won't."

He took a step and the gun when off, leaving him in shock. He made to look, seeing no gunshot wound, but a set of hands with a blade stabbed into his stomach. The second figure, the one who'd thrown the vase. He had forgotten about them. He hadn't seen where they'd come from. _But the gun went off. Where…_ The person holding the blade took in a shuttering breath, letting it go as Sherlock started to stumble.

"Fall backward," they breathed, voice familiar yet the person he could identify it with was impossible to figure out with his failing consciousness.

He didn't miss the blood darkening their shirt though until everything snapped into focus.

* * *

 _An alarm blared loudly in his head and Sherlock stumbled about in a morgue, confused and surprisingly scared._

" _What the hell is that? What's happening?" He questioned, turning to see his own body sliding out of one of the doors with a knife in his abdomen._

" _You're going into shock," Molly supplied. "It's what's going to kill you alongside the blood loss, which would have been far worse if you hadn't listened to the advice of falling backward."_

" _What do I do?"_

 _Molly was gone and Mycroft stood in her place. "Don't go into shock, obviously. Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down. Find it. The East wind is coming, Sherlock. It's coming to get you."_

 _Sherlock hurried down the long, winding staircase, opening a door only for Mary in a wedding dress to shoot him and him screaming. Then, he was running down a hall as Mycroft's voice echoed in his head._

" _Find it."_

 _He opened a door and looked to the Irish setter lying in the center of the next hall._

" _Hello, Redbeard. Here, boy. Come on!" He called, patting his legs in encouragement. "Come to me. It's okay. It's all right."_

 _The dog got up and hurried towards him, Sherlock looking like his younger self for a few moments until the dog reached him and licked at his face._

" _Hello, Redbeard. They're putting_ me _down too, now. It's no fun, is it?"_

 _A meow made Sherlock turn away, seeing an open door to his left revealing Sam, tears slipping down her face as she held a small black bundle._

" _Smith… Smith… God, Smith."_

" _ **Magnussen hit her cat with his car."**_

" _Sam…" Sherlock breathed out, making to stand up to go and help her, but the door closed in his face as pain began to wrack his body._

" _Without the shock, you're going to feel the pain." Molly reminded him as he fell to the ground and convulsed, teeth clenched in agony. "There's a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding. You have to control the pain."_

 _He was up again, running down and down the stairs before he reached the very bottom and shut himself in a padded white room where a man sat inside in a straight-jacket._

" _Control! Control! Control!" He shouted to himself, lowering his voice as he turned to eye the man, Moriarty. "You. You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel_ pain _?"_

 _Moriarty turned his head. "You_ always _feel it, Sherlock." He suddenly rushed at him, being held back only be the chain latching him to the ground. "But you don't have to fear it!"_

 _Sherlock cried out in pain as he collapsed to the ground, Moriarty hovering over him._

" _Pain. Heartbreak. Loss._ Death _. It's all good. It's all good."_

* * *

John pat Sherlock's face, hoping the get the man to open his eyes, though he eyed the blade in his abdomen uneasily.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"

Magnussen groaned, starting to get up onto his feet after Mary had pistol-whipped him and fled with the second attacker.

"Who stabbed him?" John demanded from the now-conscious man, but he didn't answer as John called for an ambulance, but paramedics were already rushing into the room.

* * *

" _It's raining, it's pouring. Sherlock is boring," Moriarty sang as Sherlock started to go quiet. "I'm laughing, I'm crying. Sherlock is dying. Come on, Sherlock. Just die, why can't you?" Moriarty slid up beside him on the ground. "One little push and off you pop."_

 _A flatline could be heard now._

" _You're gonna love being dead, Sherlock. No one ever bothers you. Mrs. Hudson will cry. Mummy and daddy will cry." Moriarty stood up and spun around. "And the Woman will cry and John will cry buckets and buckets. It's him that I'm worried about the most. That wife!"_

 _Moriarty paused then, unwinding himself and staring up at the ceiling._

" _No, that's a lie, isn't it? I'm more worried about Sammy. Poor, poor Sammy. What a terrible day it's been for her. Dead boyfriend, dead cat, dead you. Ooh, maybe even dead her now too, huh? She was having a danger day already, but I wonder about now. You're letting them down, Sherlock. John and Sam are definitely in danger."_

 _Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he groaned, slamming a fist into the ground and forcing himself back onto his feet, much to Moriarty's disdain._

" _Oh, you're not getting better, are you? Was it something I said, huh?"_

" _John! Sam!" Sherlock said frantically, pushing himself to the door and plowing through it as Moriarty shouted after him._

" _Sherlock!"_

 _And Sherlock desperately pulled himself up the banister all the way back to the top._


	25. Chapter 25

**Hope the "relationship" business with Sam and Sherlock turned out well. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

Mary hurried into the hospital over to where John was.

"Mary," John breathed out, relieved to see her but at the same time, overcome with worry for his friend.

"Hey."

"He's only bloody woken up. He's pulled through."

Mary grinned. "Really? Seriously?"

"Oh, you, Mrs. Watson." John pointed at her then, trying to look stern. "You're in big trouble."

"Really? Why?"

"His first word when he woke up? 'Mary!'"

Mary giggled and pulled him into a hug, thought the moment her face was hidden, her smile fell. When they parted, John went to usher her to see Sherlock but paused.

"Where's Sam? Does she know?"

Mary nodded. "I told her, but she's still a little… you know."

John grimaced. "How bad is it?"

"Not talking, sleeping a lot more, not eating. She's at home right now. _Our_ home, though I got Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on her for me. I asked if she wanted to come, but she said no."

John nodded, sighing and looking at Sherlock's room door. "He'd want to see her, I'm sure. He was actually going to after… well…"

Mary nodded. "I'll go let him know, okay? You go get some tea for right now. You look terrible."

"Right, yeah."

He went off towards the canteen as Mary's expression grew stiff and she went into Sherlock's room where he was lying half-conscious.

"You don't tell him," She said sternly as his eyes opened and closed slowly. "Sherlock? You don't tell John." She leaned closer, ensuring that he could see her. "Look at me and tell me you're not gonna tell him."

 _Mary Watson, who_ are _you?_

* * *

Mary picked up the phone, giving a brief glance at the figure groaning softly in the bathroom.

"So, where would he go?"

John was on the other line. Apparently, Sherlock had disappeared from the hospital.

" _Oh,_ Christ _knows. Try finding Sherlock in London_."

Mary slowly hung up, before turning to the bathroom, heading over and grimacing at the woman attempting to rebandage her abdomen.

"Oh, would you just let me?" Mary went over and helped, allowing the woman to relax slightly.

"Thanks, Mary. Who was on the phone?"

Mary shot her a look, making the woman wince when she pulled the bandages a bit tight. "You _know_ who was on the phone, Sam."

Sam glanced at her briefly before looking away. "Yeah, well… Surprise."

Mary finished with the bandages and bent down to pass Sam the button-up burgundy shirt. "If I hadn't already shot you, I would have done it again."

Sam spared a small chuckle. "Course you would."

Mary rolled her eyes, stepping out and picking up the bloodied shirt Sam had dropped in a bin nearby. "You're lucky John hasn't been by. He would have found your shirt."

"He wouldn't leave Sherlock at the hospital by himself unless he had to," Sam chimed back, stepping out and working on the buttons. "You and I both knew that."

"Why did you step between Sherlock and me?"

Sam paused for a moment, before continuing to button her shirt. "I didn't want to have you have to make that choice."

"So, you did it instead?"

Sam sighed. "His wound was superficial, which I'm sure he's figured out by now, explaining why he isn't staying at the hospital as he should. He probably thought he was dying initially, but you'd be surprised what hallucinogenics can do nowadays. I would _never_ kill Sherlock, but I knew that—if need be—you would. So, I ensured he would be fine and that you wouldn't have to live with the guilt of knowing that you'd shot John's best friend."

"Why would you do that? You hardly know me."

Sam gave Mary a soft smile. "I know a lot of things about you, Mary, always have. But I like you as a person, as a friend. You've stuck your neck out for me, even around John, and I've learned to ignore my foreknowledge of things when it comes to who I should trust. Everyone has their secrets and I trust you to keep mine."

Mary eyed her for a moment, before taking a step towards her. "You're high, aren't you?"

"Only a bit," Sam hummed, cracking a slight smile as Mary sighed heavily.

"Just for the pain?"

Sam nodded, firmly, though her eyes looked sad. "Yes."

Mary placed a hand on Sam's shoulder comfortingly, knowing that she was having a rough time, but Sam lightly shrugged it off.

"We should get going soon."

"Where to?"

"Leinster Gardens."

* * *

"He _knew_ who stabbed him." John muttered, sitting in his chair as Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson wandered aimlessly behind him—having gotten nowhere in discovering where Sherlock had left to. "The stab wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was."

"So why not tell us?" Lestrade questioned, not understanding why Sherlock would just run off the way he did. "Because he's tracking them down himself?"

"Or protecting them."

"Protecting the attacker? Why?"

"Well, protecting _someone_ , then. But why would he care? He's _Sherlock_. Who would he bother protecting?"

He frowned thoughtfully as Lestrade started to head out.

"Call me if you hear anything. Don't hold out on me, John. _Call_ me, okay?" Lestrade repeated, seeing that John was a little unfocused and feeling that he might not end up calling him if he got caught up in whatever Sherlock may be doing.

"Yeah. Yeah, right."

"Good night then."

Mrs. Hudson bid him farewell, before looking to John. "John, need a cuppa?"

John didn't respond, but she went into the kitchen to make one up anyway. John was too busy staring at the bottle of Clair-de-la-lune on the small table beside his chair. _Who would Sherlock protect? Only his close friends, of which he has few. There's just Mrs. Hudson, Greg, myself, Sam and… Mary._

"John, what's wrong? Tell me," Mrs. Hudson asked, seeing his frown. "John?"

A phone buzzed on the dining table and she moved towards it.

"That's your phone, isn't it?" One look at the caller ID and she was offering the phone to him. "It's Sherlock, John. It's Sherlock. John, you have to answer it."

But it had finally clicked in John's mind. _Mary…_

* * *

I sighed, breath fogging up the air in front of me as we walked towards where I knew Sherlock would be. Mary was straight-faced and anxious at my side, though if anyone else looked, they'd assume she was anything but. _Let's hope my intervening changed something. I'd rather have them yelling at me than her, but I'm letting her take point for this for now. Ah, speaking of, there's Bill._ I tapped Mary's shoulder and nodded towards a nearby alley, getting the go-ahead from her before slipping away. I wouldn't interfere in this part until she and John started to work things out. Until then, I was a silent observer.

The bundle covered homeless man called out to Mary as she walked past and after some pressuring, she bent to give him change only for him to grab her arm. I knew it was Bill just passing her a phone and headset. Bill started to leave, but I grabbed him in a headlock before he could go too far.

"Hello, Bill."

"What do ya want?" He bit out, trying to act tough, though his voice was shaky, making me roll my eyes.

"Nothing much. It's Sam, by the way, so there's no need to act all chicken."

I released him and he huffed, fixing his clothes.

"I wasn't actin' chicken. I knew who you were."

"Sure, you did. Look just do me a favor, yeah?" I slipped him some money. "Keep an ear out for any abandoned cats or dogs, okay? Mild temper, easy-going, a bit of personality but mellow enough that Sherlock wouldn't give a damn, all right? I'm… in the market."

He furrowed his brows but nodded slowly before heading out, leaving me to sigh heavily and grab at the pouch hanging around my neck under my shirt. I'd gone back to the vet's this morning for Smith's ashes. _Damn, I'm gonna miss that cat._ Another heavy sigh escaped my lips as I rubbed at my eyes tiredly. _And the drug is wearing off. I didn't bring anymore with me, because I don't want to depend on it. Not after Bobby and I went through so much to get me off the drugs. I'm just… so tired._

There was a click that drew my attention away from the depressing thoughts and towards the image of Mary now being projected onto the front of twenty-three and twenty-four Leinster Gardens. _Time to move_. I snuck my way through hedges towards the building as Mary walked towards the doors as well. She caught my eye and we went in together—myself slightly bent over behind her to hide in her shadow until I could hide in a nook off to the side, out of sight. Mary looked down the corridor at the figure sitting in the chair in the dark.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" She asked and even I could hear Sherlock now that we were all in the same room together.

"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where—five years ago—you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity. That's why you don't have friends," he commented as Mary walked closer to the chair. "It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight, have extraordinary retentive memories."

"You were very slow."

"Sam wasn't. She had it all figured out or she knew already. Either way, I was curious… Why did she choose to help you?"

Mary cracked a smirk. "I've been questioning the same thing. She said it's cos she likes me."

I cracked a small smile as Sherlock groaned.

"Course. Never a straight answer with her. It's all riddles and games. Though, if someone hadn't gotten in the way before… how good of a shot are you?"

Mary whipped out her silenced pistol. "How badly do you want to find out?"

"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get _somewhere_ with that," Sherlock reminded her and she nodded. "I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show me. The doctor's wife must be a little bit bored by now."

Mary pulled out a coin, tossed it in the air and shot it dead center. Then, Sherlock stepped out from behind her and hung up his phone.

"May I see?"

Mary turned to him and looked back to the figure in the chair at the end of the hall, managing a chuckle.

"A dummy. I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick." She removed her headset and slid the coin on the floor over to Sherlock, who picked it up as Mary walked toward him.

"And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot." He lifted the coin to look through the center, grunting in slight pain. "Your friend was good as well. Should they have not gotten in the way, you would have made a shot good enough to hospitalize me, not enough to kill me. Tell me, did they do that with the intention of saving me or of ruining your plan? Both of you were very precise."

Mary was silent so Sherlock went on.

"I'll take the case."

"What case?"

"Yours," he answered, before frowning. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever and Sherlock, I will _never_ let that happen." She stepped forward. "Please understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."

"Sorry." Sherlock tuned away, flicking on the lights to reveal not a dummy, but John sitting in the chair at the end of the corridor. "Not that obvious a trick."

Mary turned, seeing who it was and looking heartbroken as she let out a small gasp. John flattened his hair out and kept a blank face.

"Now talk and sort it out. Do it quickly," Sherlock informed them, but Mary grit her teeth.

"You said he wouldn't find out."

Sherlock frowned and I slowly stepped out from around the corner.

"I never said that. I said things would work out. There's a difference."

Sherlock turned in surprise, but I ignored him for now, eyeing Mary's shaking shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I really do like you, Mary, but you can't keep hiding from him forever."

Sherlock took a hold of my arm and turned us both away, much to my displeasure.

"Baker Street. Now."

The ride to Baker Street was tense. Sherlock and I took one cab and Mary and John were in the other and I doubted that any of us spoke a word. Once there, Mrs. Hudson greeted us all, looking concerned when she saw Sherlock and me. Both of us were in pain and I was struggling to hold back the need for more drugs.

"What is going on?" She questioned and John muttered under his breath.

"Bloody good question."

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic and fairly quickly, I hope because we've got work to do."

"Ignore him," I grumbled. "Take your time, you two."

"We don't have time to—"

"It's not his glasses, so shut up and let them sort things out, _please_."

Sherlock begrudgingly shut his mouth as I moved to the couch and gingerly sat down.

"Oh, I have a question," John piped up then. "Is everyone I've ever met a psychopath?"

"Yes." Sherlock and I responded simultaneously.

"Good that we've settled that. Anyway, we—"

"Shut up!" John shouted, silencing Sherlock angrily. "And _stay_ shut up, because this is not funny. Not this time."

"I didn't say it was funny."

John ignored him, whipping around to Mary. "You. What have I ever done, hm? My whole life to deserve you?"

"Everything," I said, drawing John's eyes to me.

"Sam, you better keep your mouth shut as well because I'm not having any of your psychic vision nonsense right now."

"I mean it," I kept going. "Everything you ever did is what led her to you and you to her."

"She's right," Sherlock added and John grit his teeth.

"Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine."

Sherlock ignored his threat. "You were a doctor who went to war. You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me, by the way. Hello." Sherlock waved his hand. "Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."

"It was my _husband's_ cartel. I was just typing."

"And exotic dancing."

"Sherlock, if you've been YouTubing—"

"Mrs. Hudson, everyone knows the right-hand lady is in control of the finances running the cartels," I muttered, earning a stern frown from the woman before Sherlock continued.

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people. So, is it _truly_ such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"

John looked over at Mary, voice tight. "But she wasn't supposed to _be_ like that. Why is she like that?"

"Because you chose her," Sherlock replied.

"Why is everything always… _my fault_!" John shouted, kicking a chair and making Mrs. Hudson jump and leave.

"It's not. We're not blaming you," I said with a soft sigh, making his anger-filled gaze turn to me. "You would have never met her if you weren't the man you are, John Watson. And she would have never fallen in love with you. Neither of you would have fallen in love with each other if you weren't the people you are now."

"And how do you know that? You still haven't told us how you know _anything_ , so why should I believe you? You're a liar just like she is!"

Sam looked back at him blankly, not showing any hurt from his comment. "Maybe I am, but when has that ever stopped you from listening to me? Better yet, when has that stopped you from loving _her_? And if you have any sense in that big ol' head of yours, you'd have realized by now that I won't do anything to hurt you or Sherlock unless there's a reason. And right now, that reason is _her_."

John grit his teeth, but a small part of his mind knew she was right.

"John, listen," Sherlock said quietly. "Be calm and answer me. What is she?"

"My lying wife?"

"No. What is she?" Sherlock repeated.

"And the woman who's carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?"

I sighed as Sherlock tried to get through to him.

"No. Not in this flat. Not in this room. Right here, right now, what _is_ she?"

"Okay." He finally gave in. "Your way. Always your way." John cleared his throat and pulled up a chair, setting it in full view of his and Sherlock's seat. "Sit."

"Why?"

"Because that's where they sit," John replied tersely. "The people who come in here with their stories. T-The clients. That's all you are now, Mary. You're a client. This is where you sit and talk." John gestured to the chairs. "And this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not."

John cleared his throat and took a seat and Sherlock moved to do the same, but Mary looked at me. I gave her a slow nod and she slowly moved to sit as well, sliding a flash drive over to John. Sherlock eyed it, spotting the letters written on it.

"A-G-R-A. What's that?"

"Uh… my initials."

John grimaced and looked away, unable to believe that she had lied about her name as well.

"Everything about who I was is on there." She looked at John. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?"

Mary's voice shook. "Because you won't love me when you've finished. And I don't want to see that happen."

John eventually reached over and pocketed the drive, making Mary turn to Sherlock.

"How much do you know already?"

"By your skillset, you are—or were—an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something; you've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him and I assume you befriended Janine in order to get close to him."

"Oh, _you_ can talk." Mary scoffed, knowing from Sam that he had played the same woman in a more personal way."

"Ooh, look at you two," John scoffed, pointing at them. " _You_ should have got married."

They looked at each other and Sherlock grimaced.

"No."

"Yeah, no. I think Sam's more your type, honestly."

"Huh?" I questioned, blinking in surprise and making to sit up only to wince. _Ow, bad idea._

I reached under my coat and lightly touched the area I'd been hurt, resisting the urge to curse when my fingers came away with blood. _Shit._

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life." Mary went on as John frowned.

"So, you were just gonna kill him."

"People like Magnussen _should_ be killed. That's why there are people like me."

"Perfect!" John punched his chair. "So, that's what you were? An assassin? How could I not see that?"

"You _did_ see that," Mary urged. "And you married me because they're right. It's what you like."

"So, Mary, any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want extracted and returned," Sherlock concluded.

"Why would you help me?"

"Because Sam trusts you."

I shot him a look. " _Me_? You're helping her because of _me_?"

"S-Sorry, what?" John questioned.

"Well, and you saved my life." Sherlock looked at Mary. "When I happened upon you and Magnussen, you had a problem. More specifically, you had a witness. The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave. However, someone got in the way of that and even if they hadn't, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would buy you more time to negotiate my silence. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect so you calculated that Magnussen would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police as his M.O. And then you left the way you came, taking your friend with you, should they choose to draw the police to you as well. Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John questioned.

"She phoned the ambulance."

John remembered the paramedics rushing up the stairs before he could even dial.

"You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is around—"

Footsteps came up the stairs then, surprising the people inside as a paramedic entered the building, looking confused.

"Did somebody call an ambulance?"

"E-Eight minutes," I breathed out, drawing Sherlock, Mary and John's eyes to me as I raised my hand—face pale and sweaty. " _I_ called the ambulance."

"What?"

"Sam!"

Mary hurried over as the paramedic did, though Sam waved Mary off.

"We were told there was a shooting." The paramedic questioned and I nodded.

"Y-Yeah, last week, but my wound's reopened and I might be bleeding internally," I chuckled, cringing and grabbing onto Mary as she and the paramedics helped lower me to the floor.

John and Sherlock were on their feet now as well, though John was more than confused.

"Hold on. What's going on? What do you mean?"

Mary explained as a breathing mask was placed over my mouth and I cringed in pain.

"Sam was the other person."

* * *

My eyes slowly opened and I let out a small groan at the beeping heart monitor. _I'm so tired of ending up here._ I shifted with a wince, my side feeling more than a little tender and my gaze shifted to the morphine drip. _Don't._ I grit my teeth, trying to listen to the little voice in my head that sounded far too much like him—like Bobby.

" _Don't, Sam. I told you, you don't need it."_

 _I do. It hurts._

" _I know it hurts, but you have to stop. You won't get better if you keep doing this."_

My hand reached out for the knob to adjust the drip. _I_ need _this._

"You're giving in that easily?"

I jerked to a stop, closing my eyes with a grimace. "Sherlock."

"Sam."

Slowly, I lowered my hand, leaving the drip unaltered as I shifted my bed to a sitting position.

"The others?"

"Will be here in a minute. They're getting tea."

I grunted an affirmative, not wanting to look at him after what I'd done, what I'd lied about and what I just attempted to do.

"You brought Magnussen to my attention at the wedding."

"Yes."

"So, I take it you knew about Mary's secrets and what he planned to do with them."

"Yes."

"And you stabbed me."

"…yeah."

" _You_ stabbed him?"

I winced. John and Mary were back.

"Why the hell would you—"

"Because I knew how things were _supposed_ to go," I grunted, shifting with a cringe. "Ngh, that hurts."

Sherlock pulled up a chair and sat beside me. "And how _were_ things supposed to go?"

I shot him a look, knowing that he'd already figured it out, but he wanted _me_ to say it. "Mary was supposed to have shot you. A perfectly aimed, calculated shot that wouldn't kill you. Or, well, wasn't supposed to kill you."

"He would have _died_!" John exclaimed and I cringed.

"Not, technically? He would have flatlined in surgery before managing to restart his heart. But because I intervened he didn't."

"But—"

I cut Sherlock off with a sorry look. "Sorry, you probably thought you _were_ dying. Hallucinogenic."

He frowned but nodded as John tried to understand what had happened.

"Hold on. Why stab him in the first place? You could have just shoved him aside or something."

"Mary needed time to keep Sherlock silent," I answered, giving the woman an apologetic look when John shot her a glare. "I didn't know what you would do if you just walked away. You might have told John, you might have gone after Magnussen too soon. I had to stop you for at least a short while."

Sherlock eyed me. "So, you stabbed me."

I groaned, bringing a hand to my face. "It's not like I _wanted_ to, okay! I couldn't think of any other option. You're just too stubborn to stay put anywhere and even injured, I knew you'd leave, but you'd have to stay in the hospital for at least a few days before they'd let you off. We just needed _time_."

"But that's not the only reason," Mary said then, making the group look to her. "That's not the reason you told _me_ you stabbed him."

I shot her an annoyed look. "Yes, well, I was hoping not to mention that."

She smiled cheekily as John frowned.

"What does she mean? What reason?"

I sighed heavily. "I hurt him because I didn't want Mary to have to make the choice of shooting your best friend."

John looked surprised as I went on.

"I didn't want you being more upset about her because she shot him either. I'd rather you be mad at me for that, for allowing Sherlock to get hurt, than for you to be even more upset with Mary."

He eyed me for a moment, before sighing himself. "You really meant it then, huh? You wouldn't let anyone get hurt unless you had a reason. Honestly, Sam, I don't know how we put up with you."

"Neither do I," I muttered, beginning to feel tired. "Just do me a favor. Don't go after him right away, after Magnussen. Wait until Christmas."

"Christmas?"

I hummed and John sighed, standing.

"Well, I'm going to head back to Baker Street. You need your rest."

Mary stood as well. "I best head home too."

 _They're going to different places. God dammit, John_. "John."

"Hm?"

I gave him a tired look. "Everyone has their reasons. Just give her a chance."

He frowned but gave Mary a small look before sighing. "We'll share a cab."

Mary looked a little happier and gave me a small "thank you" before leaving with John. Sherlock hadn't moved though and I closed my eyes with a sigh.

"You're not leaving too?"

"It's my turn to watch you, apparently," He said, settling back in his seat. "John informed me about your cat."

I winced, looking away.

"And Mycroft mentioned that your trip to visit Bobby was less than comfortable. Not to mention the numerous injuries you've been coming home with, leading me to think that you are everything _but_ all right. Care to explain."

"Not really."

His eyes narrowed before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a red velvet box, setting it in my lap. I knew what it was, but didn't understand why he still had it, nor why he was showing it to me.

"My relationship with Janine was a façade," he said eyeing me cautiously. "One I'm sure you already knew about; however, I do not wish to return this."

Now I was _really_ confused.

"I don't understand."

He sighed. "I want you to have it."

"What?" I blinked at him, looking down at the ring box and back again in shock. "H-Hold on. You're doing it again, right? The whole 'infatuation will get me answers' bit, yeah? Normally I'd be mad, but _please_ tell me that's what you're doing."

His brows furrowed. "You don't want it?"

"No, I mean, yeah, but… wait, no! No, no, no, no, no. Why… Why are you giving me this?"

"Well, while you were gone I found that I was very… irritable, as Mrs. Hudson put it. Doing the relationship with Janine was aggravating and all I could think about was where you'd gone, what you were doing, why you hadn't told me anything. Then the thing with Magnussen came up and you refused to have any part in it. I assumed that it was for the best, but…" His frown deepened. "I was expecting you to stop me, say something, _do_ something. Yet, you weren't around. It bothered me. More than I'm used to. Now, you're here and it's _still_ frustrating. None of this would have happened if you'd been with me. Or we could have at least come up with a better solution, so I want you to stay by my side. Hence, the ring."

My mouth had dropped open at some point and I forced myself to close it, only to open it again as I struggled to find the words I wanted to get across to him.

"Y-You are giving me the ring because… you want me to stay by your side?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "As well as not keep secrets from me and I will attempt to do the same to you. Isn't that what people in a relationship do?"

My brows furrowed as I struggled to think up a way to explain to Sherlock the severity of what he was offering me.

"But… But you don't do sentiment. Asking me to be y-your… girlfriend is admitting that you—"

"Care for you and your well-being, which I do," he admitted. "Much like how I care for John, though I would not be proposing to him in this manner."

"P-Proposing?"

He nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, yes. A ring that expensive qualifies as a bit more than just a simple boyfriend-girlfriend relationship."

"W-Wha…"

"Although I understand your hesitance. With your lack of self-confidence, I know that doing anything relatively close to what normal people do in a relationship could quite possibly be out of your comfort zone. Therefore, I'll make the exception to not do any such thing with you and you can give the same respect to me. Doing so will silence anyone questioning the relationship as something more uncouth with our age gap." He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Ah, I know. We'll come up with a contract that each of us can sign. Rules and regulations for the relationship. It can be our vows."

I continued to look at him in disbelief as he smiled, proud of what he'd come up with.

"Y-You… You're not joking."

He looked to me in confusion. "Why would you assume I was joking? I do believe you threatened me with bodily harm the last time I attempted to 'joke' about your feelings for me and mine for you."

"But it's… i-it's _marriage_."

He rolled his eyes. "It's an agreement to care for one another and share things between us so long as we are by each other's sides, written up on paper, blessed by a priest or whatever religious head you fancy, bound by law and expressed with a piece of jewelry."

"Y-You're doing this to find out what happened in New York."

"No, I'm doing this because I'm tired of watching you go out and get hurt because you think you can't talk to me about these things. And I'm tired of you thinking no one cares about your safety because I _do_. I care about what happens to you, my views on sentiment aside."

I didn't know what to say. There were so many thoughts and emotions running through my mind.

 _Someone cares._

 _Sherlock proposed._

 _What do I do?_

 _He's serious._

 _Sherlock_ cares _._

"I-I…"

Sherlock's eyes widened as something wet slipped down my face. I brought a hand up, desperately trying to wipe away tears and hoping that he hadn't seen them, which I knew was just a lie to myself.

"S-Sorry. I'm sorry."

He sighed heavily and I stiffened in surprise as he pulled my head to his chest. "You idiot. Why didn't you cry sooner?"

More tears came flooding down my face as I sobbed, everything hitting me at once. _Bobby. Smith. Mary. Sherlock. John._

"I-I was a-attacked in New York," I managed through tears, feeling his arms tighten slightly. "At the g-grave, Bobby's friends h-had waited until I was leaving. A-And his parents had gotten me arrested. The police kept it off books since t-they knew me, but I-I can't go back. Not ever and now Smith." My throat tightened, but I pushed past it. "I-I had him since I was in high school. When my brothers weren't there, he… he was all I had a-and that dick, that b-bastard killed him."

"Not by a car, I imagine," Sherlock deduced as I nodded and slowly tried to get a hold of myself, pulling away.

"S-Sorry," I apologized again and he rolled his eyes.

"Vow number one, no apologizing for rational reasons."

I managed a small chuckle at that, earning a grin from Sherlock as well.

"Y-You really mean it. The proposal."

"Of course, I do." He reached over and ruffled my hair, reaching out and picking up the red velvet box. "Though I think I'll trade this in for something more your style. I think diamond rings are juvenile."

"You just don't want anyone finding out," I concluded and he shot me a grin and a wink over his shoulder.

"Where's the fun in that?"

* * *

I shifted uneasily, fingering the ring on the chain around my neck, still in disbelief after all these months. _We're getting married. He gave me a ring and… I mean, it's Sherlock, but… W-What the hell?_ I jolted when someone spoke up next to me, hastily shoving the ring back down my shirt as Mr. Holmes—Sherlock's father—stepped out onto the porch.

"Sorry. Did I startle you?" He questioned with a soft smile, gesturing behind me. "Just need a couple of logs for the fire."

"O-Oh, sorry." I reached over and picked up two wincing slightly as my side ached and handed them over—the man retreating into the cottage.

While my wound had healed, I still had phantom aches, ones that Mary—the only person who I told about Sherlock's little confession—said had to do with my anxiety _over_ said confession. _I need to stop thinking about it._ I grimaced, rubbing the crook of my arm as I went back inside. I wasn't quite over the morphine or cocaine either. Sherlock was the one keeping me grounded right now, but we had hardly spoken since the incident with Mary and Magnussen. In a way, things had gone back to what they had been. We were mutually aware of one another but knew that active discussion was something neither of us wanted or cared for. _The problem is, I prevented Sherlock from coming up with a plan for Magnussen. He won't be taking Mycroft's computer. Hell, Bill's not even here. I've changed too much and… I'm the only one who can fix it._

"I need a smoke," I murmured under my breath, heading into the kitchen only to come in on the complaining of Mycroft.

"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a _week_ now. How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes asked and I reached over and picked it up, moving it out of the way so she could put the potatoes down.

"On which depends the security of the free world, yes," Mycroft answered as I set it on the empty counter nearby. "Thank you, Miss Foxe, for preventing it from lying under a stack of potatoes."

Mrs. Holmes huffed. "Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important."

"Why are we doing this? We _never_ do this," Mycroft complained as I frowned.

"Least you _can_."

Mycroft shot me a wry smile. "Oh, believe me, I'd rather have your absentee brothers than be stuck here."

I ignored the jab as Mrs. Holmes frowned at him.

"We are here because Sherlock is home from the hospital and we are _all_ very happy."

"Am I happy too? I haven't checked."

"Behave, Mike."

"'Mycroft' is the name you gave me if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

"I dunno. I rather like Mike. Easier to say, less… pompous," I quipped, earning a grateful nod from Mrs. Holmes as Mycroft rolled his eyes.

" _Please_ don't team up with my mother. It's bad enough that you could so easily fit into this family with your amount of meager intelligence and tendency to run your mouth."

My lip twitched up alongside Sherlock's, who'd easily caught our inside joke regarding our relationship.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

" _Lovely_ when you bring your friends 'round," Mycroft scoffed sarcastically and Mrs. Holmes raised her voice.

" _Stop_ it, you. Somebody's put a knife in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous."

Sherlock glanced at me and I twitched, mouthing back to him.

" _Save me from your mother, please._ "

He cracked a smile and I passed Mrs. Holmes a cup of tea.

"Oh, thank you, dear."

"Course. I'll just pass them around. Sherlock's already got me making his tea for him at the flat anyway."

Mrs. Holmes chuckled and I handed Sherlock a mug and Mycroft, before heading into the other room where Mary was seated.

"Here, Mary. Tea."

She smiled with a quiet thanks, setting down a book as Mr. Holmes put the logs in the fireplace—Mrs. Holmes coming in after him.

"If Father starts making little humming noises, just give him a little poke. That usually does it," she teased and Mary chuckled as I smiled at said man.

Mary though held up the book she'd been perusing. "Did you write this?"

"Oh, that silly old thing. You mustn't read that. Mathematics must seem _terribly_ fatuous now!" Mrs. Holmes complained, turning to her husband as he'd started humming. "Now, no humming, you!"

She pat him a few times before heading out and Mr. Holmes smiled at us both.

"Complete flake, my wife, but happens to be a genius."

"She was a mathematician?" Mary questioned, sipping her tea.

"Gave it all up for children. I could never bear to argue with her. I'm something of a moron myself, but she's… unbelievably hot."

Mary giggled. "Oh, God. You're the sane one, aren't you?"

He raised a brow. "Aren't you?"

Mary looked down, trying to keep her smile, but then the man turned to me.

"Or, well, I suppose it'd be you actually, eh? Mrs. Holmes?"

I stiffened at the man's smile as Mary looked between us in shocked amusement. "W-What?"

He pointed at my chest. "Fingering the ring under your shirt, the way you act with Sherlock. Quite obvious, really. You two are quite the pair, though I must admit, I never thought he'd pop the question to anyone, much less a lovely lady like you."

I was sure I was blushing up to my ears now, but couldn't get a word out of my mouth as the door clicked open and John walked in.

"Oh, sorry. I just, uh…"

Mary, surprisingly, didn't hastily resume flipping through her book like I expected, just waited patiently as Mr. Holmes caught onto what was going on.

"Oh. Uh, do you three need a moment?"

"If you don't mind."

"No, of course not. I'll go and see if I can help with… something or another."

"Entertain Mycroft," I piped up with a mad glint in my eyes, passing the man his own cup of tea from the tray I'd brought with me. "I'm sure he'd enjoy it."

Mr. Holmes chuckled, giving me a wink before heading out. I handed John a cuppa too and went to leave as well, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me.

"I want to speak with you too."

I hesitated, but nodded, standing in silence as he looked at us both. Mary, ever confident, kept her gaze locked on his.

"You haven't read it, have you?"

 _That's not the line. God, how much of a difference have I made in this?_ I pushed the anxious thought away, taking a long breath through my nose and letting it out slowly.

"I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you," John breathed out. "Both of you. These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care. The problems of your past are _your_ business. The problems of your future... are my privilege."

Mary started to tear up, looking at me in disbelief as I managed a small smile. _I told you everything would work out._

"It's all I have to say. It's all I need to know." John pulled out the flashdrive from his pocket and threw it into the fireplace. "No, I haven't read it."

"You don't even know my name."

"Doesn't he?" I piped in. "It's Mary Watson."

John nodded, smiling. "Is that good enough for you?"

"Yes! Oh my God, yes," she breathed out as John knelt down and ran his thumb over the back of her hand as she sobbed.

"All this does not mean that I'm not still basically pissed off with you."

"I know. I know."

"I am _very_ pissed off, and it _will_ come out now and then."

"I know, I know, I know."

"Though I'll probably let it out on you, Sam, if that's all right," he said, looking to me and I shrugged. "You _are_ technically the one who stabbed him."

"I'm always open for sparring sessions," I quipped. "Though… thank you, for giving her a chance."

He rolled his eyes. "You idiot. You took a bullet to give us this chance. Did you really think I would ignore that?"

"I don't know," I admitted, seeing him begin to frown and blink more rapidly—having not noticed that Mary was now unconscious in her seat. "Though… I hope you'll forgive me just as easily for this."

"Sam, what…" He shook his head, leaning against her seat as he fought to stay conscious. "W-What did you…"

"I'm sorry, John. I changed too much this time and someone's got to fix it."

"S-Sam…"

"Mary will be fine. Molly triple checked the dosages so no harm done… Well, other than to me possibly. Tell Sherlock… I'm sorry and… w-we'll have to get married some other time."

His eyes closed and I let out a shaky sigh, double checking his and Mary's pulse before heading into the other rooms to check on everyone else. The two elder Holmes' were peaceful resting as well and upon walking into the kitchen, I let out a soft sigh. My only concern with the drugs was if Sherlock had built up an immunity, but he was as sound asleep as his brother at the kitchen table. I went and picked up Mycroft's laptop, not caring about gloves or fingerprints because I had to insure that they _knew_ I had taken it should anyone show up too early to try and take the blame. I went to leave though, only to pause—hearing the helicopter nearing outside. I carefully reached under my shirt, pulling out the ring before lifting it over my head and walking back to Sherlock. I placed it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it as I sighed.

"I really am sorry, but I care for you too much to allow this to happen. Not to you."

I hesitated before kissing his forehead and walking out, inhaling deeply as the helicopter landed in front of me. I let the breath out slowly and steeled myself for what I was about to do.

"To Appledore."


	26. Chapter 26

Sherlock groaned, blinking groggily as he lifted his head from the smooth surface of the kitchen table, unable to remember what exactly had happened. John rushed in then, out of breath.

"S-Sherlock, thank God."

"John, what…" Sherlock drew himself short, looking down at something in his hand as John spoke hastily.

"I was talking with Mary and Sam, but I-I think she drugged us. She said something about Molly, but she told me that she's changed too much. I don't know wat she meant, but she went to go fix it. She… also mentioned having to wait on getting married? But that can't be right, because you two aren't…"

Sherlock wasn't listening, his gaze steadily focused on the ring he'd gotten for Sam that now lay in his palm.

"Are you?" John questioned. "I mean, it's okay if you are. I've actually thought you'd do the whole boyfriend thing first, but then again, I can see the questions being brought up because of the age difference and—Hey!"

Sherlock got to his feet, stuffing the ring in his pocket and lifting his still-unconscious brother's head.

"It's gone."

"What's gone?"

"My brother's laptop. We have to get to Appledore, _now_."

"Appledore? Magnussen's place that you were talking about? But what does that have to do with—"

"She told us to wait until Christmas to make a move and I was _planning_ one," Sherlock bit out, heading out the door hastily with John on his heels. "Sam's taken things into her own hands now, believing her foreknowledge to be faulty now do to too many deviances. She's going to try and sell out my brother to get Magnussen to give her everything he has on Mary."

"But… she'd be a criminal. Sherlock, she _will_ go to prison!"

"Which is why we need to get there and stop her before she does something stupid. I just feel like there's something missing. This plan of hers is more like something _I'd_ do. It's too reckless, not thought out. Sam looks at everything from every possible angle she can find, foreknowledge or no. This is running headfirst into the lion's den with a piece of meat in the hopes they'd leave you alone. No. I'm missing something. She has to have known what I would've done and has a different plan."

"Could she be expecting us to come after her?"

"My brother, parents and Mary are all still unconscious while we were only out a few minutes," he calculated. "Our dosages were less on purpose, so yes. The question is, why? She must have known we'd try to stop her."

They climbed into a cab and Sherlock gave the address.

"What if she didn't?"

He looked to John with a frown.

"I mean, what if she doesn't think we'd try and stop her? If what she knows has changed or is useless or whatever, then how could she know what we'd do at all? We might stop her, we might not. We could stand back and let it happen. We could stop her and do it ourselves. Could she… Could she _really_ know what we're going to do?"

"I don't know," Sherlock breathed out, reaching into his pocket and fiddling with the ring. "But I'm not going to sit around and wait to find out."

"But what about Mary? Sherlock, we can't just go in there expecting to get whatever he has on Mary so easily. And if we stop Sam, that might be our only chance."

Sherlock raised a brow. "You _want_ her to commit a crime to save Mary?"

"No! I just… what if that's the only way? To save Mary, someone has to give something up. Sam _must_ know that. That must be why she ran off by herself. I just… I just don't know if I will want to stop her when we get there."

"No. We will save Mary _and_ Sam. I'll ensure it."

* * *

I walked calmly over to where Magnussen was seated on a couch with his drink as he waved off the two guards who's come in with me.

"I'd offer you a drink, but it's very rare and expensive."

"Not interested," I muttered, not even bothering to sit as I glanced over my shoulder at the video image being projected onto the screen behind me.

I wasn't surprised to see Sherlock jumping into the bonfire from a while back.

"Hard to find a pressure point on Mr. Holmes," Magnussen hummed. "The drug thing I never believed for a moment, but look how he cares for you and John Watson. His damsels in distress." His gaze shifted to me. "Though, you hardly seem distressed. I assume you know how leverage works?"

"You want Mycroft, so you target his weak point, Sherlock. Sherlock's weak point is John and I so you target us. John's weak point is Mary, and mine—"

"Is your absentee brothers, your deceased boyfriend and your cat," he hummed. "Did you bury it?"

"Cremated," I bit out, doing what I could to keep from strangling the man in front of me.

"Ah. It was the only thing I could really get my hands on. Nothing to do with the boyfriend, seeing as he's already dead and your brothers wouldn't be worth much to you anymore after your little tiff at the airport." He sipped his drink. "Not that I have much sway in America though, so you're rather a challenge. I hadn't expected _you_ to be the one offering me a deal on Mycroft Holmes."

"Yeah, well that was a lie," I huffed, setting the laptop down on the coffee table and moving to pour myself a drink—much to Magnussen's surprise.

He wasn't used to being on the other end of someone's arrogance.

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me, do you know Moriarty?"

He blinked slowly as I swirled the liquid in my glass, eyeing me. "I've heard of him and may have dealt with him once before."

 _Look at that. Show a little dominance and he folds like a cheap suit._ This _is why I went with Mary. I hadn't understood how someone with enough gall to piss in someone's fireplace turned into a sniveling mess when she walked through the door. He's just the little boy who knows it all and blackmails people into submission. No actual bite if he's got nothing on you._

"You see, he did something much similar to what you're doing with Sherlock and I. The threats to friends, the toying around like he owns the world." I downed my drink in one go enjoying the burn down the back of my throat and hoping it would keep me from thinking about my want for something stronger. "Thing was, he was willing to do more than blackmail. Torture's no fun, let me tell you. 'But why torture some nobody college kid?' you may ask, and the answer's simple. I know things. Things he hadn't expected. Things nobody would know about unless they'd been told directly from the source, and that's where you begin to have a problem, Magnussen. I knew it was you from day one. I knew about the bonfire, about your dirt on Mary and about Mary herself. I've known about 'Appledore' and your connections and I was content with letting you do whatever the hell you wanted so long as you stayed out of my way in the end. Adjust Mary's 'deadly' shot, keep Sherlock away for a bit longer than usual, then stop him from doing something stupid in the end. It was so easy, so simple. You could have had a free ride if you'd just taken Sherlock's offer in the beginning and you _still_ would have been fine so long as I dealt with Sherlock at the end of this, but you went and did something stupid." I narrowed my eyes at him. "You killed my cat."

He looked confused. "I… had you thrown into a bonfire, blackmailed your friends, and you are going to stop me because of an animal?"

I sighed heavily, pacing now and dragging a hand down my face. "This. _This_ is why you wouldn't get away with anything in America."

"What do you mean?"

"You messed with my pressure point, as you've done to many English people who probably just gave in, but you don't realize that I'm not like them. You mess with my pressure point and you've got hell to pay for."

He reached for Mycroft's laptop, placing a hand on it. "But I have what I want."

"Please. It's password protected and even if you were to try and take it, I'd be able to down you in a second."

"However, there's a GPS tracker within it, so Mr. Holmes is already on his way." Magnussen stood up, eyeing me. "But if you know about the vaults, what they really are, then how do you expect to explain this? You've just committed treason and there's nothing to show for it."

"Yeah, except there is." I pulled out my phone from my bra with a roll of my eyes. "Your guards are idiots and I've been able to record this whole thing. Oh! And let's not forget that I had a friend who happened to work at your business who has just received this recording and is currently at you competitor's building getting it printed up for quite a bit of money. How's your stock prices?"

"This doesn't change anything," he declared, grasping at straws. "You've still attempted to sell me government secrets."

"Yeah? Where's the proof? Have I once stated that I was selling it to you?"

He was slowly unraveling and I felt a hint of pride in my chest at having come up with this plan, having beat him all on my own with a few well-placed pieces on the chess board.

"Sucks being on the other side of that, doesn't it?" I mused, heading over and picking up the laptop, giving the man a small smirk. "You underestimated me. Most people do, but you should learn to dig deeper than just appearances, Magnussen. Now, if you do excuse me, I believe my ride is here."

Sherlock and John hurried in then, looking startled.

"Sam."

"Sam, you're all right!"

I shot John a look. "Course I'm all right. Did you think I was dead or something? Have a little faith, John."

John relaxed slightly, but Sherlock's eyes narrowed, knowing that something was still going on. _And it still might happen. I need to make sure that nothing goes wrong. I've gotten this far. I've shut down Magnussen's empire, but even I know that doesn't end things. Not completely. All it would take is Magnussen to say something to someone and they believe him. If he drops names,_ ever _, those people are in danger and he can't be allowed to walk free. I can only hope that Mycroft gets here soon. I let him in on what I was planning, so he should be able to arrest Magnussen now, but it's not much of a leap for Sherlock to come to the same conclusion I did. It won't take much for Sherlock to realize what he thinks needs to be done… Maybe I should have drugged him more instead of less, but if anything would have gone wrong just now, then I would have been left on my own._ I scratched at the crook of my elbow before catching myself and stopping. _No, stop worrying. There's no point in thinking of 'what ifs.'_

"So, what's going on? D-Did you get what he has on Mary?"

I closed my eyes with a soft sigh, turning away from Magnussen for now and making to head inside. "I'll explain later, John. For right now, we just need to go."

"Go? But what about—"

"John." I grabbed his wrist, silencing him. "Just listen to me please. Trust that I know what I'm doing and that I wouldn't let anything happen to Mary."

He hesitated and I grit my teeth.

" _Please_."

Slowly, he nodded and I let him go, giving Sherlock a look.

"Mycroft should be here soon. I'll explain what I did afterward because it will take a while, but just know that he has no leverage now. There's nothing more he can do."

Sherlock stayed silent, but followed us out—Magnussen walking out with us, more than displeased.

"Well played, Miss Foxe."

I didn't respond, ignoring him as the sound of a helicopter grew closer.

"The Appledore vaults exist in my mind and nowhere else. They're not real. They never _have_ been."

Something about the way he said that unnerved me.

" _I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me! Thank you. Sherlock Holmes… Thank you. Bless you."_

I shook my head. _No. Don't think of him. This has nothing to do with him._ I took a deep breath and let it out, placing my hand in my pocket.

" _As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out."_

The helicopter was within view now and Magnussen sighed.

"Well, I suppose this will be a little tougher to deal with, but no matter. I doubt they'll do anything more than have me in a decent witness protection program. I'm a valuable asset, after all. Knowledge has its uses."

" _Well, good luck with that."_

Police swarmed the premises and Mycroft spoke loudly over a megaphone as guns were aimed our way.

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Sam Foxe. Stand away from that man."

"Here we go, Miss Foxe," Magnussen smiled sickly sweet.

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Sam Foxe. Step _away_ ," Mycroft repeated as Magnussen shouted back with a grin on his face.

"It's fine! They're harmless!"

"Sherlock, what do we do?" John questioned as I grit my teeth, hand fisting around the cold metal.

"Nothing!" Magnussen practically laughed. "There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. _You_ lot happen to be some of them!" He looked to me, smirking. "And I'm sure you've realized it by now, Miss Foxe. There's no chance for you to be a hero. I'll still have everyone under my thumb with or without my publishing company. All it takes is someone willing to listen."

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Sam Foxe. Stand away from that man. Do it _now_."

"I'm sorry," I breathed out and Sherlock took a step forward.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

"There's no other way."

"Of course, there is. There's always another way," he urged and I managed a bitter chuckle.

"You would've done the same."

I pulled the gun I'd pick-pocketed off John and turned, firing off a single shot right between Magnussen's eyes.

* * *

"She has information that we need," Mycroft remarked, facing a pane of glass as he looked down at London—a number of people seated behind him at tables.

"Information that you have yet to discover the origins of," one man argued, standing at his sid and Mycroft resisted the urge to sigh.

These people we more than intolerable at times. _Don't they understand how she could benefit us in the long run? Honestly, this is why I don't like being around goldfish._

"She will _die_ before she reveals any information to us. This has already been proven when she was taken by Moriarty."

"So, imprisoning her is still the best option."

Mycroft felt a headache coming on. "She _does_ , however, inform my brother of some details."

The man beside him frowned. "If this is some expression of sentiment…"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Don't be absurd. I am not given to outbursts of compassion, much less to someone holding that much information. She _is_ determined though, I will give her that. And you know what happens when clever people become determined. Or need I remind you of the _other_ Holmes."

The man grimaced, looking away as Mycroft turned his gaze back out the window.

"In any event, the Americans won't be pleased if she disappears under our detainment and handing her over to them is obviously out of the question. Any form of incarceration may well end up with her taking her own life as well and witness protection—though optimal—would only encourage my brother to take action. The alternative, however…" He looked over to Lady Smallwood behind him. "…would require your approval."

"Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes," she remarked.

"Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my potential sister-in-law is a murderer."

* * *

I stood beside Mycroft, hands cuffed behind me and eyes tired as a black car drove up to meet us in front of the plane that was going to take me off. Sherlock, John and Mary stepped out and Mary approached with a soft, pained smile—eyes full of tears.

" _Please_ don't look at me like that, Mary," I begged, cracking a small smile myself. "You have to take care of the boys for me."

"Oh…" She reached up and kissed my cheek, hugging me as John and Sherlock waited behind her. "Don't worry. I'll keep them in trouble, though probably not as well as you would."

"I count on it," I managed and she stepped back to John before he stepped up.

"So, here we are," he muttered.

"Hope you've got a name ready for your kid," I cracked a smile. "Don't name t after me or Sherlock, please."

John smiled back. "I don't plan on it. We've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl."

"Well, I won't spoil it for you."

His smile wobbled before he thrust his arms around my neck and I let out a grunt.

"Thank you," he breathed quietly, pulling away and attempting to put up his soldier mask.

With a small nod, he glanced to Sherlock and took a step back over to Mary as I sighed heavily.

"Idiot. I would have done anything to keep you safe," I murmured in return, unheard before I looked to Mycroft.

"Could I have a moment?"

Mycroft sent the security guy off and he, John and Mary walked further away to give Sherlock and I some privacy. Sherlock simply stood there in front of me for a moment in silence, though I could see the displeasure on his face as he eyed me. Shame welled up in my stomach, remembering what I'd done and how I was paying for it. _All because of him. Of that stupid, greedy bastard. I lost my life because of him._ I sighed.

"All this time I've been planning things to keep us safe. To keep _me_ safe and look where it's got me," I bowed my head, bitterly. "One wrong calculation, one error and I just wasn't clever enough to figure out a way around it on the spot. Foreknowledge is useless when an unknown factor gets tossed into the mix, eh? Trying to be the hero never works out for anyone," I scoffed out a dark chuckle. "Sentiment really is a killer, isn't it?"

"Where is he sending you?"

I looked up at Sherlock, but had to turn away the moment I caught the blank, apathetic stare he was giving me.

"America," I lied, not wanting him to know where I was _really_ being sent. "They can't technically keep me here, so probably some high security prison over there where they can keep my big mouth shut."

 _Never mind the fact that they're actually sending me to some dark hole in the middle of a foreign country where I'll be strapped down or in a straight jacket to prevent suicide while they make digs at me for information I'll never give._ I resisted the urge to vomit at the thought, swallowing past the lump in my throat as my head began to swim. _Time… What time is it again? How long have I been here? My arm's starting to itch again. I'll need more soon._

"Liar."

My attention focused back on Sherlock as I shifted my weight back and forth between my feet idly; trying to distract my thoughts from giving me away to the man in front of me. _Liar? When did he say that? A minute ago? Seconds? Respond!_

"Hm?"

 _Oh, clever response. Beautiful. Christ, it's a miracle I can hide anything from him for more than a minute with that sort of intelligent response… His coat collar is turned up. What does that mean again? Why do I want to giggle? Giggle!_ I bit my tongue. _Don't you idiot! God, this is why you shouldn't have taken—_

"You're lying," Sherlock repeated, taking a few steps closer as I resisted the urge to step back; though my legs didn't even twitch to do so. "They wouldn't give you up so easily. Your little mind trick prevents that, which begs the question; _why_ are you trying to lie to me?"

 _Because. You're Sherlock Holmes. Clever clogs, lady killer, British television star Benedict Cumberbatch who goes around ripping young girls' hearts apart on a daily basis and—Wait, that's not right. What's going on again? What time is it?_

"Because I don't want you to get hurt," I blurted out, unable to control my mouth and the words passing through it as my fingers bounced off my back in twitchy irritation.

The euphoria was beginning to wear off. Thoughts were coming back. _No. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about leaving… Who am I leaving? Wasn't I getting married? No, that was John, wasn't it?_ Sherlock stepped closer and reached out. I looked down to see him holding out the wedding ring I'd left with him when I'd drugged him to run off on my own and my heart clenched. _Me. I was getting married. H-He wanted to marry me and now I… Stop it. God, please. Don't show me that. Don't show me what I've ruined. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to_ _ **think.**_

"We'll have to postpone the wedding until you get back, though I suspect that it might be a slightly bigger affair than expected. John knows now," he said, reaching up and putting the chain back around my neck and letting the ring swing down and bounce onto my chest.

I looked down at it, feeling tears well up. _No, no, no, no, no. Stop it. Stop it! Stop making me think! P-Please._ His finger moved under my chin and tipped my head up so I was staring into his clear blue-grey eyes.

"Sam…"

 _Please, stop._

"You're too clever for your own good, you know."

 _I-I can't keep doing this._

"Too kind-hearted and most definitely idiotic for the stunt you've pulled."

 _S-S-Stop. God, Sherlock, please._

"You have just saved Mary Watson's life."

 _Don't make me want to stay. I c-can't stay._

"Altered the way things were supposed to go just to keep us all safe."

 _Stop! You're going to break me. Can't you see what you're doing?_

"You have proven to me what sentiment can do."

 _Y-You're making me regret everything! I can't regret anything! I can't regret saving you and taking your place!_ His hand brushed my face and a thumb wiped the tears falling down my cheek.

"You have changed Sherlock Holmes and saved everyone."

 _You're making me regret falling in love with you!_

"I owe you my life and I will do everything in my power to bring you back home to Baker Street."

 _Why can't I do anything right? Why can't I just live?_

"You are _mine_ and I won't let you go now."

Lips pressed themselves against mine desperately and I closed my eyes with a choked sob wishing I could just wrap my arms around him and never let go. The kiss was too short. Time was running too quickly and I cursed the drugs in my system that had begun to make my bones ache and my skin itch; speeding up time just that much more. His forehead pressed lightly to mine as hid hands cradled my face.

"I care for you, Sam Foxe and I _will_ bring you home."

 _Don't let them take me. Please…_ He stepped away and the guard from before returned, taking my arm and leading me into the plane as Sherlock stood aside with John and Mary. Mycroft stepped in and stared down at me, almost sympathetically.

"One last top-up, Miss Foxe?"

 _Please. Let me forget._ I nodded slowly and he sighed, reaching into his coat and pulling out the needle, moving to my side.

"He won't be pleased."

I didn't care. "I'm dying anyway…"

Mycroft glanced up only briefly as my shaking slowed with the liquid drug, standing up and putting it away.

"I _am_ sorry. I did try."

"I know," I murmured, my tears slowing as I leaned my head against the side of the plane to look out the small window; mind slowing as the drug took affect and left me numb. "I know."

"…Goodbye, Sam."

"Goodbye, Mycroft."

* * *

Sherlock stared at the space where the plane had flown off, unable to help feeling the tightness in his stomach and chest that he wished he could write off as a stomach ache from Mrs. Hudson's breakfast that morning.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John asked, having seen their goodbye and worried about how Sherlock was going to handle Sam's being sent off.

Though he was _still_ trying to accept the fact that the two had somehow gotten into a relationship sometime during this whole mess with Magnussen.

"Why did she do something so reckless?" Sherlock murmured, and John shuffled on his feet, sparing Mary a glance.

"Because people who are in love do silly things to keep the ones they love safe."

"We're not in love," Sherlock grumbled, and John raised a brow.

"You proposed to her, she said yes, and I do believe you two just kissed."

Sherlock didn't spare him a glance. "We had an agreement that being sealed together by law would be mutually beneficial in ensuring that we are able to care for one another effectively."

John sighed. "Sherlock, she _loves_ you."

Sherlock's jaw clenched tightly. "Well, that's hardly doing her any favors," he bit out with a growl.

John, sensing his friends frustration with the situation went to propose a way of getting Sam back, only for Mycroft to exit the car he'd just gotten into with a shout.

"That is simply not possible."

Sherlock finally looked away from the sky and eyed Mycroft. "What happened?"

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "You're needed."

Sherlock scoffed, walking right past him, hands in his coat. "Shame. I don't work under duress."

"England needs you, Sherlock."

Sherlock whipped around with a snarl. "And the one person I care for has just been sent to her death because of _me_! So, tell me, Mycroft…" He stepped over to Mycroft, standing inches from his face. "How badly do they want me?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. "I'll make a call."

Mycroft walked away and John looked between the two in confusion.

"What's he doing? Why are you smiling?"

Sherlock's grin widened as his eyes stayed locked onto Mycroft's back. "Bringing her home, John. He's bringing Sam back."


End file.
